No Honor in Chains
by Maria de Sanctos
Summary: "For the Crown", the words had been ingrained in her head since childhood. But when Robb's young wife is put through hell and back, what cost is too much for a symbol held by a dishonorable man? Treachery, grief, and broken promises confirm that the game never ends till all its players are dead. AU, not a fix-it story Formerly called Nightmares of Winterfell Series
1. Nightmares of Winterfell

**Hola, dear readers! I decided to try my hands at a GoT fanfiction. I've just recently gotten into the fandom (Thanks YouTube) and I'm absolutely in love with Robb. So I decided to try and do the story justice. Be warned, I've only read about 20 chapters of A Song of Ice and Fire and have only seen bits and pieces of the show, so my knowledge of the world and characters is pretty limited. **

**I will be doing a rewrite of this at some point, heaven knows it needs one, but I'm in the middle of prepping for Camp NaNo this April and have lost interest for the time being. If I get enough interest on FanFiction and from my friends, I will continue writing and revising this whole series. I hope you guys enjoy! **

**There is a longer A/N at the bottom with more information about the backstory.**

* * *

Her bleeding body cooled in his hands, her lips cold as he kissed them time and time again. Her eyes flew open as she grabbed his hand, placing it over her mangled womb. His hand rested upon the bloody ribbons of a tiny child.

"Robb! Robb!" The voice that pulled him away was not that of sweet Talisa. No, it was the woman who should have died in her place.

He did not turn to the thin, cold body behind him, nor did he reassure the bony hand on his shoulder, trembling from the cold.

"It was just a dream, go back to sleep." There was no warmth in his voice, no comfort or invitation to lay her shivering body closer to comfort him.

With a soft sigh, the woman rolled back over as Robb settled down to sleep. The girl slid out of the bed, letting the moonlight from the open shutters guide her way to a dressing gown and an unlit candle.

Robb's brow furrowed as she lit her candle and silently left their chambers. He rose slightly in their bed and stared at the closing door.

Miriel followed the lit path to Rickon's bedroom, Robb's little brother was her refuge when nights turned sleepless. Watching him sleep peacefully was a balm to her grief. Upon opening the heavy door, she was surprised to see his graceful mother already comforting a very much awake and distraught Stark child.

"Miriel?" Her eyes pierced the opening door with strength, alighting upon the figure clothed in a halo of white cloth and fur.

"My lady! I - I like to check on him when I am restless," she stood awkwardly as Catelyn studied her sharply.

"I should go," she whispered, turning to leave, thinking perhaps to sit in the cold snow outside until daybreak.

"Stay, my dear. I'm sure my son will not refuse your comfort."

Miriel drifted to the bed, hesitantly placing herself opposite of Catelyn. Awkwardly, she placed her hand on the shaking child's shoulder. Realizing her presence, Rickon blindly reached out and grasped her cold palm, shifting in his mother's arms while doing so. In time, his sobs lessened and soon diminished as his peaceful breathing alerted restful sleep.

Catelyn smiled at the precious child in her arms even as she settled him back under his furs and blankets. Looking up to the woman shifting in front of her, she spoke softly.

"I dreamt of his death again, and had to assure myself of his safety."

"It seems nightmares are taking us all this night." Lady Stark's eyebrows drew together in confusion. Miriel looked down, almost afraid to speak as she rested on the edge of a chair.

"He mourns her still, this woman I know nothing of." Smoldering anger marred the other woman's face.

"My son dishonored himself and his young wife by taking that woman as his mistress."

"He loved her," Miriel weakly defended.

"He should learn to love the woman he married, the woman who saved his kingdom."

"My father's knights saved Winterfell, Lady Catelyn." she murmured, not daring to meet the pitying gaze that latched onto her. "I had no part in their skill or heroism. I know nothing of warfare."

"You learned quickly enough," Catelyn stated, the heat and confidence in her voice causing a shudder to run through Miriel's frail body. "You rallied the North and led your father's knights. You drove the Ironborn from Winterfell and our lands; negotiating a peace treaty that will last for centuries. Your courage held Winterfell against the rebel Boltons. You starved yourself to save a people not your own."

Catelyn drifted forward to the downfallen woman in front of her, bending to draw her fingers against Miriel's chin and raise her face upwards.

"Your heroism and honor saved the North, that alone deserves my son's respect if not love. Talisa Maegyr did none of this." Her hand dropped, letting Miriel's face tilt back down as well. She cupped the soft silver head, threading her fingers through loose hair.

"I lost his heir, my lady. I failed my duty as his wife and queen."

"I will speak to my son," Catelyn said, the fury in her eyes mixing with her disgust, as she moved from Miriel's side and towards the door.

"No!" Miriel cried.

"Please, Catelyn!" she begged, the frail strain in her voice evident in the softness. "I do not wish for the discomfort of my wedding night so soon after the king's return. I will do my duty or happily die to give another the chance," she begged, her eyes downturned as Lady Stark drifted back to her side, a hand once more easing against her head. Miriel's gaze lifted again, her brilliantly colored eyes were blurred by tears.

"What was she like?" the muted woman muttered. She continued at Catelyn's confused stare.

"She would have borne him a son. Robb would have legitimized him; given him the Stark name. I would have loved him. I'd never have to bear his children. He would be a young babe by now, and he would have been like her."

"What was she like that made her easier to love than I?" she sobbed out, Catelyn threading her arms around her quickly.

"I gave him everything, why wasn't it enough? I never got to mourn him. I never had the chance to mourn my son. The only part of Robb I would ever have."

"Why do I deserve this?"

* * *

When Miriel returned to her husband's bedchamber late in the night, she didn't dare let her tears fall for fear of Robb's awakening. Even though his eyes were closed and breath steady. She slipped beneath the furs, staring at the moon's brightness.

As morning approached, Miriel's hazy exhausted mind was stunned to realize that Robb was still in their chambers. Not up early and gone by her awakening. Thinking perhaps he slept late to accommodate his restless night, Miriel feigned sleep to avoid the awkwardness of his presence.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she heard his footsteps come closer and closer to her. As their echo stopped a few feet from her head, her eyes flew open and her head lifted to stare at him with wide eyes. He'd never done this before.

The king stared at her impassively as he adjusted his shirt sleeves. There was no quirk of humor in his mouth, no hidden fury in his eyes, just cold neutrality.

Miriel dropped her head in guilt and closed her eyes, trying to drive his stare from her mind. He stood silently, watching her. The soft patter of his footfalls alerted his departure and the door slammed behind him. The tears fell from Miriel's eyes in his absence.

* * *

**Please don't hate me! Or Robb... He'll get a chance to redeem himself, that is, if I ever finish writing this series...**

**Okay, the backstory: **

**Miriel is the daughter of a neutral house in Westeros. The kingdom is by the sea (I don't have the geography set in stone yet. I do know it will be somewhere on the East end)**

**Miriel's father decided to align his house with House Stark and finalized that agreement by marrying his only daughter to Robb**

**Shortly after their wedding, Robb learns of Theon's betrayal and sends Miriel North with some of her father's forces to liberate Winterfell (This is much earlier on in the war than in the books or TV Show)**

**About the time of Eddard Stark's death, Robb takes Talisa as his mistress, but since his wedding to Miriel was a secret that only a handful of people know about, Talisa has no idea that Miriel even exists, much less is Robb's wife**

**Winterfell is besieged by Ramsey Bolton who Robb sent North shortly after Miriel's departure to assist her in the recapture of Winterfell**

**The Red Wedding occurs and Robb almost dies, but is saved by Miriel's brother and her father's troops, however, Talisa and the child she had been carrying both die**

**Miriel also lost a child from the starvation due to the siege, but Robb doesn't know this yet**

**Robb wins the war and puts Stannis on the Iron Throne, Stannis agrees to keep the North and the South as separate kingdoms**

**This story takes place tentatively about four months after the end of the war**

**I would tell you more, but I want to keep some of it to myself should I choose to actually turn this into a novel. ;)**

**Please leave a review and let me know what you think! And if you would like to see this turned into a story. **

**Thank you so much for reading!**

**Winter is Coming,**

**Maria de Sanctos**


	2. Family Duty Honor

**A/N Hello, lovely reader! I'm backkkkkk! Oh my gosh. I just want to send out a huge thank you to all my lovely reviewers, followers, and favoriters! Thank you, guys, so much! It has really encouraged me! Between everyone on FanFiction and some awesome friends' reviews, I've decided to continue on with this series AND I've decided to push my plans for Camp NaNo to the back burner and work on writing the novel for this! More on that in the 2nd A/N.**

**I hope you enjoy this one-shot! This was the second one I wrote and between the last one and this one, I was up until two in the morning one night writing both of these down in an insane spurt of inspiration. I'm not quite pleased with how Robb's character ended up, I tried to rewrite it a little, but I know it's off.**

**Anyway, enjoy and please let me know what you think! I'd be curious to know what you think will happen next. :)**

**laurenbull: Thank you for your lovely review! It is extremely reassuring to me to hear you say it was well written. A part of me didn't want to post it until I rewrote it because parts of it made me cringe, but I guess that was just me being over critical of myself. :D I hope you will like this new chapter. I will probably try to update every Sunday for now unless I have something going on or don't have time to work on a new one-shot. I have about 3 or 4 more written down, I just need to get them onto the computer, but that's gonna run out soon if I don't start working on another one. Thank you again so much for your review!**

**Guest: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you're liking it! I was rather nervous about posting a GoT fanfic. I'm coming to this fandom late in the game and I figured someone would have already done a story like this. Seeing the response I'm getting on this fic though, I guess I'm doing something right! I hope you will enjoy this new one-shot. Thank you again so much and I hope to hear more from you soon! **

* * *

_**4 Months Later**_

The King had been absent from Winterfell for three months. The Wall had continued to deteriorate until dire need took Robb from his seat at Winterfell to observe the situation in the North.

During his return journey, Miriel had received letters from him; the first in their short marriage. She returned them passively, thinking of subjects that he might be pleased to hear of, while dutifully ignoring his inquiries about her graciously.

As per tradition, the royal family lined the courtyard waiting for him in silence, much like they had almost six months prior. He galloped into the muddy yard, scattering stray bits of rock and mud. Knights of all the houses of the North lined in behind him. There was a collective silence gripping Winterfell. The royal family bowed quietly in sync.

Miriel expected the king to greet his brothers and sisters first, as he had when he returned from the war. She expected the same embarrassment and shame to come again as he would ignore her presence in favor of his young brothers.

She glanced confusedly from her bent position at the boots appearing several yards in front of her. Her gaze rose upward slowly, straightening her back and staring into Robb's eyes. His face was lined with a curious expression she had never witnessed before.

"Winterfell is yours, your grace. Welcome home, my king," she stated solemnly, expression guarded. Robb ran his eyes up her body slowly, she did not blush like a young girl would at her husband's gaze. He eyed her face thoughtfully before taking light, quick steps forward. Hesitating in front of her, he gave her a single nod in return. Her neck bent upward as she bemusedly searched his face. Suddenly, he threaded his arms around her and absently nuzzled his face against her hair

"I'm sorry," he whispered, bending slightly to curl further around her.

Miriel hesitantly lifted her arms, placing them lightly against her husband's back. He was bent and bowed against her, shivering slightly. She allowed him her neck to nestle against as she attempted to offer him the comfort he had refused for so many months, the comfort that was now forced instead of so freely given before. His arms tightened around her flesh and bone.

Distantly, Miriel saw Lady Stark herding her children back inside the castle, promising they'd see their brother later. She watched as their bemused faces disappeared and Catelyn's overjoyed laughter and tears filled her vision in her children's place.

Miriel was not sure what to make of the softened man in her arms, or the smiling woman behind who looked happier than the day she returned to her children. What did cross her mind in blaring panic, while Robb whispered apologies and sweet words over and over again, was nothing pleasant. To feel her husband's lips brushing against her neck in innocent words, brought to mind the other time he had nestled against that expanse of her body.

Images of her wedding night ran rampant through her mind. Of the things he did to her, the uncomfortable feeling of his body, against her, around her, inside of her. She went rigid in his arms, hers slowly sliding off him. Gripping his arms, she slowly pulled them off her. His confusion and slow tears stopped whatever scathing remark was on her tongue as she opened and closed her mouth.

"You have come from a long journey, your grace. I am sure you are tired and desire a moment's rest. I will have a bath drawn up for you and food sent to your chambers," she stated, bowing her head slightly and refusing to meet his eyes. His tone was soft when he replied.

"I would speak with you, wife. Will you not join me in breaking my fast?" He ducked his head, trying to meet her eyes.

"Forgive me, your grace. I have duties that require my attendance. Excuse me." His eyes followed her as she left his side and walked across the muddy courtyard, face never lifting from the ground.

Lady Stark moved to go after the young woman, but her son's broken murmur stopped her.

"Mother?" he questioned, childlike. Lady Stark too quick footsteps towards her son before stopping in front of him swiftly, her palm connected soundly with his face.

"She has nothing left to give, Robb," she replied softly. "She gave everything she had and you threw it back. She's frightened. If she wakes up in the morning to that bitter man she's lived with for six months, she'll lose what little sanity she has left."

"How do I fix this?" he begged, his mother soothingly palming the cheek she had so callously marked.

"I don't know, Robb. Perhaps you can't," she suggested, turning around and preparing to go on her own way once more.

Robb paused a moment, pondering so many questions, answers, and a silver-haired, grief-stricken woman he had touched mere moments ago for the first time in almost a year. His eyes flickered towards the retreating figure of Lady Stark.

"Mother," Catelyn turned, staring her child down in patient love.

"She's so thin," he murmured. "It's been six months," he added by way of explanation. His mother's face took on a sad quality to the ponderous blue eyes.

"I can't get her to eat," she responded evenly, turning and going on her way suddenly.

Robb stared bewildered at her retreating form.

* * *

**Well, that went well... Poor Robb, or poor Miriel depending on which side you're on. Please do let me know who your sympathy is going out to right now, I will be very curious to find out. :)**

**So, I was up until like one or two in the morning a couple of nights ago after I got off work, writing up my Action Outline for the novel. It ended up being six pages long and both my friends who have read it have assured me that it's really good. So that's what I'm going to be doing for the next month or so! We'll see where this goes. Depending on how long it is, I will probably start posting chapters from the novel when I'm almost done with the rough draft. I'm super excited to get started on it, but ****I will continue to add to this one-shot series for the time being until I run out of material or time. **

**I was blown away by the response I got on FanFiction, I'm continuing this story and expanding on it because of the amazing people who have reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. This is for you!**

**Also, just wanted to leave you guys with an Easter Egg from the last chapter. When I was writing out the backstory info, I messed something up and I didn't realize it until I looked at my notes. Review if you figure it out, and, if you're right, I will send you a copy of the next couple one-shots early. ;)**

**A bit of trivia for you. I was racking my brain trying to come up with a title for this today. Nothing was working then I thought, you know, it might be interesting to title it after House Ciroth's words, because they have something to do with "duty" or "honor". It just occurred to me at that moment, that I actually had no idea what Miriel's House Words were and I needed to spend some time working out something fitting. So instead, I googled House Tully's Words and realized they actually worked really well for this one-shot! So, voila! I have an accidental title that ended up working really well.**

**Okay, this is actually a really long author's note. I'm gonna shut up now and kudos if you read the whole thing!**

**Reviews will make me write a new one-shot faster, follows/favorites will make me write something fluffy and happy for a change!**

**Thanks again so much, dear readers! I hope you enjoy this new one-shot! **

* * *

**Winter is coming**

**Maria de Sanctos**


	3. The Queen in the North

**Hello all! I'm struggling to remember everything I was going to say in this A/N, so here goes nothing. First of all, thank you to all the lovely reviewers, followers, and favorites! You guys have made a really long, stressful week so much better! Second of all, a couple of reviewers pointed out a couple of off things in the last chapter. I'm going to be completely honest, I'm really bad with short story structure. So anything you guys can share with me to help me get better is always appreciated! **

**I've had a couple of comments about Robb's sudden change in character between chapter 1 and chapter 2. Because I'm more just jumping around with this series, I'm not actually spending a lot of time developing the storylines. I'm just having fun with these one-shots while I work on a feature-length story. There will be a better explanation for a lot of what's going on in these one-shots in the novel. I will do my best to make them as easy to read in the meantime though. **

**I will be posting an interlude next week that will explain better what Robb was doing on the Wall and hint at why his mindset may have changed in reference to Miriel.**

**Anyway, thank you for listening to me while I try to explain that! I hope you enjoy this one shot, my best friend had to stop reading because it hurt so much and she cried multiple times. There may have been some yelling involved as well, and some stuff thrown at the wall. ;)**

**Once again, review and let me know who has your sympathy right now. It was interesting to have one of my friends comment that she went from hating Robb to suddenly starting to like him after reading this one-shot. I would be interested to see if anyone else has the same experience!**

* * *

** Later That Day**

"Forgive me for being late, Miriel. I hope I have not kept you waiting long." She gave a wan smile in return, her movements flustered as she dropped her head again. Robb eyed her sharply, taking in the sunken hollow of her cheek.

He reached out, gripping her elbow and maneuvering her palm to curl lightly around his outstretched arm. She eyed the forearm in her grasp before dropping her eyes again, not meeting his probing gaze. Her grip never extended past a couple of fingers, her other fingers raised and hovering over his sleeve.

The doors to the great hall cracked open and rolled back. Miriel lifted her face and stared straight ahead to the waiting members of the Stark family. She smiled softly, the crease of her lips not meeting her eyes.

A hush fell over the hall as they strode towards the table set facing the long hall. Miriel heard whispers scattering over the heavy silence. Eyes immediately directed to the arms draped over each other. The lords and ladies had never seen such an outward sign of affection between the young monarchs. Whispers spread, rumors of an heir before the long Winter becoming fast spreading like wildfire. She fought to keep her head high.

Miriel's hesitant grip on her husband's arm loosened and fell as she took her seat to his right. Remaining standing, The Young Wolf raised his chalice. A chorus of "The King has returned!" spread through the great hall, growing louder and louder as Robb drank from the ornate cup. The feasting and festivities of the evening began immediately after.

Miriel observed the room as she did every feast, silently and a faked smile gracing her lips; the plate in front her suspiciously empty. Curiously, she watched the hand that rested to her left drift into her vision. She watched the hand as it filled her plate slowly when she failed to do so herself. Her eyes rose shyly to find her husband already staring at her, a concerned, cold gaze being borne on his face. She dropped her eyes quickly, staring down at her now full plate. Slowly, with hesitant hands, she grasped the silver and carefully prodded at some unnamed substance. Robb seemed satisfied enough by her feeble efforts as he turned to speak with his lady mother.

Her hands trembled, images of starving children, weak and ill pulled her mind under. Gaunt soldiers guarding blackened walls, and blood spilling out of her thighs as she held a half-formed child in her arms. Cold and dead as a corpse. Her blurry eyes barely seemed to know why she was staring unseeing at her dead child whose little face looked so much like Robb.

"We will hold out until we die of starvation or burn in our beds."

Her hands nearly slammed back on the table, the silver fumbled and falling from a shaking grip. She rose to her feet unsteadily and turned to the king.

"Excuse me, your grace," she blurted out, barely waiting for his acknowledgment as her quick steps nearly turned to a run.

Barreling out one of the many side doors, Miriel abruptly stopped and fell sideways against a wall. She gasped and shuddered, leaning her cheek against the cooled stone.

Shifting to her back, she stared upward. The shift in her eyes caused a waterfall of tears to gush forth. She wanted that child so much, but she put duty first. The thought of the food covered in blood, her blood, made her stomach clench, threatening to expel whatever was left in it since the last vision.

"Miriel?" She flew from the wall, a scream piercing the air as she tripped backward a few steps. Her wild eyes stared at her husband's cleanly dressed figure, hair still damp from the bath he had finished not long ago.

"Forgive me, your grace," she replied, breath heaving and head bowed in shame. His footsteps drifted closer and she let his fingertips settle under her chin. She allowed herself to meet his searching eyes, expecting judgment. Her cheeks flamed red with embarrassment and glistened with tears. One stray finger stroked the underside of her jaw.

"Are you well, my lady?" Her brief nod did not settle his suspicions. "Perhaps it would be best if we dined in our rooms?" he inquired, not unkindly or forcefully.

"It is my duty to be present at such feasts, my lord," she assured him. He grunted briefly before smiling slightly, a sad droop present in the corners of his lips. He dropped her chin and gripped her hand instead. He squeezed it slightly before coming to stand next to her and raising their joined hands up, letting her palm rest lightly on his. Her finger didn't curl to grip his palm.

Settling back into her seat, shifting awkwardly as Robb settled next to her, closer than normal. She surveyed the people before her, picking at her food and attempting to laugh at the entertainment. Robb was silent, but his concerned glances would occasionally drift to her, catching her strained face, shaking hands, or the large amount of untouched food sitting in front of her.

As the night progressed, lords and ladies approached their king and queen. Some to welcome the king back to Winterfell, some to praise Miriel's rule in his absence, and others to pay their respects to the young queen.

Miriel's attention turned from her Good-Mother's conversation with her son to alight on the young girl standing nervously in front of her.

"Your grace," she murmured, her thin voice shaking. Miriel graced her with a warm smile, albeit thin, and a brief nod.

"I have a gift for you, your grace. I hope you will like it!" the young girl exclaimed, shifting from foot to foot. She reached across the table delicately, extending a long thin piece of wrapped paper. Miriel unwrapped it slowly. A penciled canvas met her eyes when the last of the rough fabric fell away. Her eyes solemnly beheld the image that met her eyes.

"It's you, your grace," the girl whispered, her gaze lifting to look over her queen. "I remember mother pointing you out upon the castle walls as you parlayed with the Bolton usurper. You looked so brave, even in your grief."

Miriel's hand reached out before she could pull it back and stroked the likeness, little was off from the finely stylized presentation. Her gaunt face and fragile frame almost seemed to move and beckon as the wind blew her billowing clothes. Her hand traced down her face before pausing and resting against a rounded bump drawn over her stomach. Her eyes shifted to the little girl in front of her, she was chewing her lip nervously.

"I know you had already lost him, but I thought he belonged there. So you would always have something to remember him by," Miriel ignored Robb's questioning glance, instead she lifted her head and beamed at the hesitant child in grateful silence.

"Thank you," she responded, her voice low and soft. The little girl's face brightened in return as she shifted shyly under her mother's arm. Miriel rose her eyes to scan the accompanying woman's face but found she could look no further than the bundle nestled against the woman's bosom.

"How old is he?" she asked, eyes finally rising to the woman's face. She nodded her head to the nesting babe in question.

"He is little over three months, your grace," Her steely eyes fearlessly studied the Queen as the young girl stared longingly at her son. "You saved his life, your grace, his and countless others." Miriel did not answer, nor lift her eyes.

"Would you like to hold him?" The Queen's arms flexed at the thought. The baby twitched and cooed in his sleep briefly. Unbidden images of a babe who would never move nor grace the world with his lusty screams would not leave her eyes.

"Perhaps another time, my lady," Miriel replied, her voice heavy.

"As you wish, your grace," the woman replied. "My King." She bowed slightly to Robb and moved away from the seated monarchs quickly.

Robb turned to his wife, mouth open and closing as confusion ran rampant. Miriel interrupted his bemused, unspoken thoughts.

"Excuse me, your grace. I feel quite tired, I believe I shall retire for the night," she stated, rising to her feet and bending the neck to him as he nodded in return.

"I shall come soon, wife, I wish to speak to you before you retire," he intoned, his tone as gentle as a newborn lamb.

"As you wish, my king. I shall be ready when you come," she replied, voice strained before drifting away in a cloud of furs and heavy fabric. The slightest smell of metallic blood could be found in the air that night when the feasting halls were emptied.

* * *

**Well. . . That was heartbreaking. Maybe slightly, willing-suspension-of-disbelief, because, I mean, how on earth could he have not known about the child? I do have a couple of possible explanations though. If people gave their sympathies to him, it's possible he could have thought they were talking about Talisa losing her child; especially since he is so caught up in her loss. Or, the people are so busy trying to rebuild the North and prepare for the coming Winter that they just don't have much time for their royalty. Or, they are mourning with Miriel and are disgusted with Robb over his betrayal of their savior. It's either going to be a mix of all three or just one. I will decide when I get to that part in the novel, in the meantime, I am open to suggestions!**

**It was interesting and rather amusing to see how many people are still defending Miriel. My goal is to make you hate the pair of them by the time I'm through, that or desire to smash their heads together. I'm just going to say that it gets way worse before it gets better, but that's the fun with the character development, hence the jumping around from how they act each one-shot. **

**kmhappybunny240: **Your review made me so happy! I'm pretty sure I scared a couple of people when I burst out laughing over it. Someone commented to me the other day that I must really hate Robb to make him into such a despicable character. Like I said above though, hopefully, you will hate/ship them both by the time I'm done. ;) I think Robb is starting to realize that he can help his wife without having to love her or even like her. She's starting to scare him in terms of her health. I think that's one of the many reasons he's starting to thaw with her.

**FanfavBBC: **The more I read your review, the more I appreciate it. Thank you so much for pointing out the plot holes in it! I'm currently working on an interlude chapter that will take place in between chapter 1 and chapter 2 and will explain what Robb was doing on the Wall and hint at why his attitude changed towards Miriel (I'm super grateful that you suggested an explanation for this because I'm really enjoying writing the interaction between Robb and Jon on the Wall and it's turning out a lot better than I thought it would!). I've always had difficulty with the structure in short stories, so any useful critiquing you can give me will always be appreciated! Thank you so much for taking the time to write up your review!

**Arwengeld: **I'm glad you're feeling compassionate for Miriel right now! That was my goal for the time being. Robb is definitely being more responsible and maybe even trying to help her a bit, even though he doesn't know everything that is going on with her. Be careful what you hope for though, to be honest, Robb is about to create a monster sometime in the next few chapters. Let us just say that the Miriel you see here is nothing compared to the Miriel you're gonna see.

**Guest:** She will forgive Robb, buttttttttttttttt... It could be a while. . . I'll leave it at that. ;D

**Guest:** Thank you so much for not ignoring the misspelling of Winterfell! Even my spellcheck knew better, but being spellcheck, I wasn't going to listen to it. That's what I get for not checking. I think I've updated all the misspells to the correct spelling now. Please let me know if I miss any other GoT specific spellings! Thank you!

**Xo: **Lol, your review made me chuckle. You have some very perceptive comments. I haven't gotten that far in the tv show yet, my best friend and I just started watching it a couple of days ago and we're having trouble finding the time for it with our busy schedules! I think we're on episode 3 or 4 in Season 1. My knowledge of the show and world is pretty limited otherwise, so I was very interested to hear that Talisa was not going to consider being a concubine to Robb in the show. You are correct though, Talisa didn't know about Miriel until a few days before the Red Wedding. Miriel's father asked that their marriage is kept a secret, for the time being, I haven't worked out the full reasoning for that yet though. Talisa was furious with Robb though once she did find out. I plan on updating every Sunday for the time being until I run out of material or time, currently, I will probably run out of time sooner; my work schedule exploded for this week. There is always the novel to look forward too as well! Miriel will definitely find her own strength, but it might not be the way you are expecting! Things will be getting a lot more complicated for the two before too long. Thank you for your review!

**Azalia Fox Knightling: **I loved reading your review! Your questions brought up some interesting things I hadn't given a whole lot of thought to before. You will see some hints as to what pulled him out of his attitude in the next chapter, and Catelyn was definitely involved. The answer to Miriel not eating is a bit more complex and difficult to define at this point. Miriel is giving me the cold shoulder now and doesn't want to explain her actions, to be fair, she's kind of writing herself at this point. I think you are correct in both points though, it does have to do with the horror of the siege and the starvation that she became used to during it. Then there is the guilt about starving herself to help save her people but losing her child and Robb's heir as well. Then Robb returns before she has fully had time to worry about her own health and he is giving her the cold shoulder. Robb may not know about Miriel's miscarriage, but Miriel doesn't know that. She assumes he knows and is upset with her over that and not being able to be with Talisa and her death. Then we also have the fact that, if I recall correctly, the body can get used to not eating much for a while and when you try to eat more, your stomach can't handle it and you get sick. I think Miriel has hit that point or has been at that point for a while now. I'm glad you're finding it interesting! I'm trying to keep everything believable but really get a chance to do some deep character study as well, that and I like angst. I watched too many YouTube videos that left me in pain and I needed an outlet, hence FanFiction. Now I just share the pain. :D

**Once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited! You guys are helping me stay sane with work going to flames around me!**

**Thank you so much and happy reading!**

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**Winter is coming**

**Maria de Sanctos**

**P.S. I've been off and on the phone all day today (My only day off this past week) putting out fires at work, so I'm exhausted and didn't get a chance to do much editing on this chapter. So apologies for any errors, spelling or other. Please leave a review if you notice anything and I will get it fixed as soon as I can! Thank you!**


	4. The Approach of the White Walkers

**Hi all! A big thank you and shout out to all my reviewers, favorites, and followers! You all give me the biggest smiles! Enjoy the chapter and please leave me a review! I always like hearing from everyone! I have written responses to everyones' reviews below as well.**

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** The Wall **

**Three Weeks Earlier**

The burn of a freshly lit fire warmed the hazy room slowly. The cold wind blew through cracked walls, setting the teeth of a man swarmed in furs to chattering. His gloved hands shook as he attempted to read a letter by the firelight. It was a short missive, written in a firm hand. Short enough to be wrapped tightly and attached to a raven. Confusion and worry pinched his brows, his eyes raised to the dancing flames. Their hunger licked at the stone set around them, flickering and fluttering with the growing breeze.

With slow, almost mournful actions, Robb crumpled the paper and let the flame's possessive sparks devour the weathered letter. He leaned against the stone fireplace with one hand, resting his forehead gently against it. Staring around the darkened room, his eyes alighted on the remnants of the last inhabitants. Furs, weapons, half eaten food all scattered about. Robb lifted his hand, it shook in the light wind. Anger flashed through his blue eyes, he clenched and unclenched the offending appendage.

The single door blew open, snow and an inrush of icy air swirled through and wrapped around the heavy room. Robb's eyes rose to behold the massive figure turn to slam the door shut quickly. The wind once more took up its battle in beating the frail walls in, it snuck through in places, but the walls held stubbornly as they had for centuries.

The massive figure moved to drop one of the heavy fur pelts graced across his shoulders. He shrunk in size quickly without the coarse fur. Shaking his curly black hair of lingering snow, he threw the pelt carelessly onto a chair and drifted to the fire, shivers wracking his body.

"How do you survive this cursed weather?" mused Robb, watching his shivering brother warm his freezing hands over the flickering fire. Jon grinned as he stared at the dancing flames.

"We are of the North, my king," Robb grimaced at the title. "Perhaps you have grown too used to your warm fires and feather beds," he finished softly, gaze flickering to his king in teasing.

Robb shook his head and laughed shortly, he turned to meet Jon's easy smile, allowing his own to appear a few moments. Sighing, he reached back and gripped a chair, setting it in front of the fire and nodding to Jon while retrieving another.

They settled comfortably in front of the open fire, both watching its flames attack the remaining logs with vengeance. Identical in all but looks, they could have been twins but for their hair color and Jon's heavy Stark features.

"The castle was like a walk in the crypts," murmured Robb, still thoughtfully gazing into the wavering flames, mind occupied with the bearer of a silvery head of hair.

Jon's gaze flickered to his brother momentarily, eyeing the heavy weight straining his face.

"I've sent most of the Night's Watch beyond the Wall. To keep the peace while we march the Wildlings through the tunnel." Robb nodded slightly, his gaze drifting to meet Jon's as he spoke again.

"I am grateful you came so quickly, I don't know if we would have held against an attack," Jon added, scanning Robb's distracted gaze and distant nod.

"Renly has agreed to send the remnants of the Westerlands' loyalists North to the Wall and House Ciroth has pledged five hundred Borderlands knights to boost your Watch." Robb paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. Sighing and rubbing the cold from his windburned cheeks, he continued.

"The Wildlings are now the North's problem."

"If you need men-"

"It's not men I need, Jon, I have men. I'm sending Davos Seaworth to Queenscrown with remnants of Stannis' men to keep the peace in the North. Lords Umber, Karstark, and Glover will set up patrols from their keeps to contain the Wildlings in the North." Robb's bright eyes finally met Jon's, their depths filled with uncertainty.

"I'm more concerned about the White Walkers though," he confessed, a shudder running through him. "Had I not heard it from your own lips, I would not have believed it."

Jon sighed deeply, taking his time to form a reply. His eyes never leaving the flames his brother had stared so deeply at. The glassy depths of his deepening eyes took to glinting in the reflected light.

"Winter is coming for Westeros, brother," his voice only a slight sound against the howling wind. In the distance, the tins of metal on metal and the steady huffing of horses could just begin to be heard. Eyes rising to Robb's warm face, Jon continued.

"The Walkers bring Winter with them, and every day it marches closer to the Wall. If the Wall should fall, we have to be ready." Robb nodded slowly, an unspoken promise passing between him and Jon.

Their gaze held for a few short moments, eyes exchanging memories and nightmares of young men. Jon broke into laughter, it's sound rolling and deep as music. Robb joined him seconds later. The heavy darkness in the room seemed to roll back with the welcome reprieve of dark words.

"What would father have said of us talking of children's tales in fear?" choked Jon, as his words came in short burst of air between the laughter. Robb shook his head back and forth in reply, gazing fondly at his brother in return.

"He would call us old wives taken to spinning tall tales to fool naive children," Robb deadpanned, sending Jon into a further fit of laughter. Robb chuckled half-heartedly with him, staring back into the fire distractedly.

Jon's laughter slowed down quickly as he noted his brother's hesitant mood. He studied Robb briefly, taking note of his tension and the strain pinching his face.

"I saw a raven earlier," Robb jerked his head back slightly with a tense smile but made no other comment to confirm or deny Jon's statement. "Bad news from Winterfell? Is Miriel unwell?"

Robb's brows drew over his eyes in dark focus, but his gaze remained attached to the blazing fire.

"Mother wrote," he responded, voice distant and expression pinched. His curls rustled as he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. The fire licked the air near his hands.

"I trust that Lady Stark is well?" enquired Jon, tentatively. Robb nodded dismissively, gazing at his brother briefly. Jon sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and staying silent for a few moments.

"And Miriel?" he asked, hesitant in voice, mirroring Robb's bent over position in front of the fire. He rested his chin against his raised fingertips and studied his brother's conflicted expression.

Robb sighed, rubbing his hands through mussed up hair slowly. He frowned, his fingers twitching slightly as he rubbed them together slowly.

"Mother said she collapsed after I left and has been bedridden since," he added softly, his eyes examining his shaking hands once more.

Jon watched him mournfully, a slight tinge of Stark displeasure coloring his eyes a deeper shade of brown. He leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his knees, his stance remained tense and defensive.

"Did she ever recover from the siege? Or her loss?" Jon paused, watching the confusion spread over Robb's face as his brows furrowed. The deep blue of his eyes sparked, a tinge of fear striking their depths.

"What loss?" he asked warily, his tone cautious, testing Jon hesitantly for answers. Jon stared back at his brother, words losing themselves to wary disbelief.

"Did you never read her letters?" he intoned, the strength behind his tone shattering whatever resistance Robb was thinking of summoning.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I could never bring myself to after father's death," He sagged lower in his chair and let his head rest in outstretched hands. Jon's voice rose in disbelief.

"You won a war on the back of the woman, your family is alive today because of her, and you can't bring yourself to read a few pages of her words?" he exclaimed, dark tendrils of Stark anger flaring from him like flames from a fire.

"Berating me will not fix the past, Jon," Robb replied, his mouth set in a firm line against his brother's angry tirade. Jon sighed, he rubbed the strain from his face and pausing for some time to gather his shattering thoughts.

"I'm not berating you, I'm trying to fix your marriage," Jon finally replied, his voice was soft. The gentleness was perhaps more suited to tame a skittish colt, but Jon's tone was calm and kind. He studied his brother; his brother, his king, his blood. The boy he had grown up with was long gone, a wintery man had replaced him. The smile was gone, the laugh less easy, and the tone hard. Robb had matured into a bitter man, and it suited him little.

"Don't lose her, Robb, else your guilt will make you the real enemy," Jon finally settled in reply. Robb smiled wanly but made no further comment. He returned his narrowed gaze to the dithering fire. They remained in silence, each pondering their own thoughts as the winds scraped against wooden beams.

The din of metal tingling had grown closer in the last few minutes. The steadily increasing sound of excited shouts and a massive throng of gathering people could be heard over the howling winds. Jon's head swiveled in the general direction of the loudening din. He stared a few minutes, letting his ears pick up distinct sounds amid the confused ruckus. Robb cocked his head in the same direction, listening to the sounds of migrating people with peaceful submission.

"We should join the crowd," murmured Jon, straightening against his chair, but hesitant to bend stressed limbs. "In case of an incident."

"They would be ill-advised to raise an attack against a thousand Cirtothian and Northern troops staring down their necks," responded Robb with a small amount of scorn. The corner of Jon's mouth curved upward, transforming into a slight smirk.

"Well," he started. "I never said they were well advised." Robb snorted, his eyes glittered slightly with the boyish charm he had possessed so fully as a child. His curls rustled as he shook his head in response, smiling at Jon warmly while rising from his chair.

"You've drug me all the way from my warm fires and feather beds to save your sorry asses from an ill-advised rabble? What is the Night's Watch coming to!" he retorted, Jon laughing in return before clapping a palm against his brother's shoulder.

Their furs were snug and warm from the lusciously heated room as they twisted them back on in silence. The winds continued to howl and beat against the blackened timbers, the swirl of snow could just be seen through the cracks and crannies of the wooden beams.

The brothers left the barren room. As the door was held open, snow and icy winds blew inward, setting their freezing grips against the heat and open flames. Fire and ice met in an upward blast, each curling their power around the other in an open caress. Winter was coming it whispered.

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** I hope you liked this chapter! Hopefully, it will clear up some of the confusion from chapter two. I had a lot of fun trying to write/butcher Jon's character. I'm mostly pleased with how he turned out. I'm having a hard time trying to decide what I should write about now, I want a filler chapter between this and Robb FINALLY reading her letters, but I'm not 100% sure what I want it to be about yet. I am always open to suggestions if you have something you would like to see me write about! **

**Kudos to my amazing best friend who came up with the title for this one-shot!**

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**kmhappybunny240: **Your review, as always, made me quite happy, though it also made me a little sad. When you brought up the fact about her having PTSD, I couldn't agree more. You also gave me an interesting plot twist with the fact that PTSD never really goes away. Sadly, the secret isn't out completely yet, although Robb is definitely suspicious and more than a little concerned. And boy is he going to feel bad when it is out... She will get some help eventually, could be a little bit down the road though.

**FanfavBBC: **I always have been good at over detailing things! Just call me Dickens. ;) I think my problem partially stems from not being able to define my writing style, I do need to spend some time doing that one of these days. You gave me quite the chuckle over the teleporting part. Imagine all the people who could have survived on GoT if teleporting existed! I do tend to skip or trivialize relevant information, I think I'm trying too hard to avoid redundant information. Perhaps the mid-ground is being descriptive about redundant information. Once again, thank you for the review and pointing out things I can get better at! I've never really had anyone who would critique my work!

**BrookeWorm3: **Thank you for your review! I hope this chapter will continue to keep you excited!

**Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967: **I'm glad you enjoyed it! It's probably my favorite of the ones I have written so far. It's just so angsty and heartbreaking.

**The Awesome Guest Reviewer who left 3 reviews: **Thank you so much for your reviews! I really enjoyed reading them! Okay, to be perfectly honest, I messed up with the Stannis thing... Yeah, I wrote that and then looked at my notes and realized it was supposed to be Renly, not Stannis. I am intrigued by Stannis' character though and I would like to see a writer do a Stannis with sense. It would be insanely refreshing to see. That is so true, it does take two to make a marriage work. I do believe you are the first reader I have had so far that is on both sides! Honestly, there is guilt, or about to be guilt, on both sides, so being on both sides is probably a safe bet. I will actually have an answer to your 3rd review in a couple of chapters or so. His mother probably should tell him, and probably would have too, I haven't worked out a reason yet as to why she hasn't. Oh well, all in good time!

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**WHO'S EXCITED FOR THE SEASON PREMIER IN, LIKE, TWO HOURS? THIS FAN IS! Does anyone have any predictions? I have the strangest feeling that Dany is probably going to be dead by the end of the whole thing. I'm not sure why I'm feeling that, but that's just my gut feeling. Granted, they're all probably going to be dead by the end, I mean, it's bloody GoT for goodness' sake! Anyway, happy reading all and thank you! **

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** Winter is coming**

**Maria de Sanctos**


	5. A Game of Words

**Hi all! Sorry I missed posting last week, Easter was insane for me and I had the hardest time trying to come up with something to post, not to mention I've been battling a hell of a cold. Kudos to my amazing best friend who gave me the idea for this one shot and listened to me complain while I had a miserable case of writer's block!**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed! You guys are amazing, much love to all! **

**Please leave a review on this chapter and let me know what you think! Reviews are candy and make me write faster.**

**Also, due to the crude guest review received last week, all hate reviews will be deleted. If you don't like my writing or my OCs, then don't leave hate reviews. Leave me constructive criticism, it will help me get better instead. Thank you!**

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**A Month Later**

Robb's footsteps tapped against the smooth stone of the long hallway gently, light and swift he moved. Sansa's highborn ladies trailed around him as he passed, stopping only long enough to bend in a simple curtsy. Robb nodded politely but continued onward. He learned quickly, one could only put up with his mother's scolding for so long before giving in.

Pausing before a single, unmarked door, he hesitated. His hand was poised over a well-polished doorknob. Long slender fingers twitched as he breathed deeply, staring at his hand. Raising his eyes, he gripped the handle tightly and pushed.

The sight that met his eyes was peaceful in its shortness. The silver-haired beauty that was his wife, was perched wearily against the hard back of a carved chair with a fur robe resting over her lap. One of the elder ladies of one of his houses was sitting with her, hands working a needle and thread firmly through a silken banner akin to Miriel's coastland kin. Her eyes were glued to the pale visage of the Queen's haggard face.

Robb froze in the doorway, sight blurred as he took in the scene before him as it rapidly vanished. Miriel was the first to set eyes on him, her easy smile drowning quickly, it took only a moment before she scrambled heavily out of her chair and to her feet. She tripped slightly and nearly leaned into the woman beside her who steadily gripped her arm out of obvious view. Her face was demurely bent in submission.

Eyes twitching between his wife's bent head and the clear grey eyes of the elder lady of House Cerwyn, Robb watched Lady Cerwyn bend her head slightly in greeting. The lady's eyes held no thought in them to confirm the feel of the room, her only adornment was a slight frown lingering in the crease of her eyes. Robb eyed the hand still clutching the frail Lady Stark.

"Lady Cerwyn," Robb finally responded in greeting, his voice wary as he let the heavy door close softly, a shallow click the only sign of its movement.

"My king," she responded, just as warily and a hint hostile. Robb paused mid-stride, eyes pointedly going to the hand still gripping his Queen's shaking arm. Lady Cerwyn dropped the restraining hand immediately, but her eyes never left her King's own hands.

Robb dropped his slick gloves onto one of the few chairs littering the bare room. His gaze drifted around briefly, surprise flickering through his eyes as he noted how little of his wife he was able to spot in their shared chambers. Stopping his journey through his room, their room, he paused to pour himself a glass of light wine.

He noted the brightly colored cloth laying forgotten on Lady Cerwyn's chair. He nodded his head to it as Lady Cerwyn looked over her shoulder at the richly embroidered banner.

"It's lovely work you ladies are doing," he added softly, watching Lady Cerwyn as she gripped the wrinkling fabric and pulled it off her chair. "I do not recall having seen the design before."

"It is House Tyde's banner, my lord, from Ciroth," she responded, her voice was hesitant as she expected Miriel to respond. Her lady's eyes were still glued to the floor and she breathed not a sound in return. House Tyde's lightning bolt shimmered in the light.

"The Queen wished to send a banner to the Lady Amarda for her upcoming wedding. I was privileged to be chosen to assist her grace," Lady Cerwyn responded, folding the finely detailed banner and letting it cover the back of Miriel's chair.

Robb smiled lightly in return, his lips pulling in appreciation as he sipped thoughtfully from his half filled glass.

"Your kindness is much appreciated, Lady Cerwyn," he responded, a kind gleam coming to rest on his blissfully open face. She nodded in return as Robb's gaze drifted from her to his wife's head, which was still bent before him. Lady Cerwyn glanced uncertainly between the two.

"If you please, Lady Cerwyn," Robb asked gently, his gaze drifting back to her. "I would like a moment with my wife, if I may."

Lady Cerwyn nodded politely, a nimble smile gracing her lips as her finger moved swiftly to gather any remaining supplies that were scattered about. Miriel's bent position was lifted as she caught the eyes of Lady Cerwyn, she nodded slightly, her lips pulling, but not quite reaching their full effect. The elder lady squeezed her hand quickly as she passed by. Miriel jerked as the heavy wooden door slammed loudly.

Robb set his glass on his desk absently as he examined the pale sky through the room's single window. His footsteps seemed to echo and resound loudly through the silent room as he watched the sky spread it's pale light slowly. Miriel did not move, nor did it seem that she breathed, not even an inch as Robb could not hear the rustle of her dress.

Pivoting around, he met her clear coated, empty stare as she watched him. The intensity was unnerving but quickly gone as she turned away. Her slow movements exposed the jutting of her thin frame as she reached for the discarded fur pelt. Her fingers moved through the hair peacefully.

"The sun is shining strong today," Robb commented, voice soft and light, but his eyes narrowed and brow firm as he watched Miriel absently examine her fur pelt.

"Aye, it is indeed, my lord," she responded, her voice thin, cold, and exceedingly quiet. It carried slowly to him, a sound so dim that the voices beyond the grave could have whispered it far easier than the living. He moved a step or two closer, Miriel twitched in silent reply.

"It is likely to be the last warm day of Winter," he warned, she smiled thinly in response. He drifted closer, only the rustle of clothes alerting his presence.

"Will you share it with me, my queen?" his voice an open-ended question, awaiting her response in a hidden eagerness portrayed only by his light touch against her wrist.

"If you wish it, your grace," she responded wearily, a touch of excitement being forced into a tired voice.

Robb made no move at first, taking a moment to study her exhaustion and pallor. It was her eyes that spoke volumes to him. There was a spark in them when he first met her, young thing that she was, the spark was gone from them, pounded out and replaced with silent grief. Miriel's return gaze was sharp.

With slow steps, the young queen drifted towards an awaiting cloak draped with care over a single chest. Her hands shook as she fumbled to lift the heavy thing over her shoulders. Robb's own hands gripped the heavy fur and settled it against her back. Their hands brushed briefly, Miriel stilling and turning tense. Robb let a couple of fingers trace her own, his breath ghosted down her neck and his face almost came to rest against her hair.

Robb waited with bated breath, his nose rubbed lightly against the back of her head. Miriel took a huge breath of air, her head twitched, turning towards him slightly. He watched his queen tense and breath slowly, her eyes glancing behind her, but her head did not turn further nor did she step into his offered embrace.

Not a moment later, Miriel stepped forward quickly. The lines of tension sharp upon her face as her eyes glittered fearfully. Robb's hands fluttered downward slowly. Frustration gripped his brows briefly, setting his face into a whirlwind of confusion and smoldering anger. In raging silence, he gripped his forgotten robe and sliced it through the air and onto his shoulders.

In displeasure, he treaded towards his waiting wife swiftly. Laying a hand on her fur covered back with some strength behind his touch, Miriel shrieked in terror, jumping away from his outstretched hand. Her frightened eyes stared back in horror, quickly turning to shame. Robb paused, trying to take in his lady's terrified stance. Her hand rested on an empty womb in protection and her eyes blazed in fear, but the lines in her face revealed calm determination.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Robb opened them again with a more harmonious expression lining his face. Keeping his stance relaxed and hands in view, he reached for Miriel's shaking body slowly, giving her the chance to dodge his movements if she wished.

Careful to keep his touch light and away from her skin, he adjusted her cloak, pulling it more firmly over her shoulders. Her breath came in heavy puffs and drifted over his face like wind. Her gaze remained glued to the floor until Robb's hand forced it upward, making her meet his eyes.

"That's better," he responded, her panic slowing and subsiding. "You're safe," he added, her head rose and fell frantically a few times as she rushed to agree with him. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears as she desperately gazed into his own glittering stare. They seemed to speak all the words that she could not force from a leaden tongue.

The weight of heavy ice blue eyes matched her searching gaze. Robb's bemusement seemed to exact the opposite of her hopes as the glittering silver eyes fell once more. She turned her back to him and pushed open the creaking old door.

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The winds whispered through dozens of fiery red leaves, rustling and crinkling in the blissful silence of the Godswood. Snow covered trees and walls blended together to make a magical white backdrop for the Heart Tree.

Robb's heavy tread scraped over freshly fallen snow slowly. His gloved hand was pressed lightly against his wife's fur covered back, a steady presence to her shaking form.

They walked slowly, Robb careful not to push her along, but rather allowing her to set her own ambling pace. She'd trip through the restricting snow at times, Robb's restraining hands always quick to prevent her fall.

The sunlight was only a pale remnant of a brilliant Fall. It did little, but further, enhance the grey pallor of Miriel's gaunt face. The warmth of it was sucked from the air, leaving his thin wife with racking shivers.

They trudged onward, stopping only after they came under the welcoming branches of the Heart Tree. Its weeping face was stilted by the cold freezing its red tears in place.

"The Maester believes this may be the last glimpse we receive for the rest of Winter," Robb intoned, examining the pale sun above. His tone was a soft caress in the sharpening weather.

Nodding absently, Miriel traced the fluttering branches of the heart tree gracefully. Her dull silver locks twisted with the light breeze. She muttered something under breath as she followed the lines of the ancient tree with a gentle hand.

Glancing her direction, Robb paused, taking a moment to stare bemusedly as his young wife placed her forehead against the rough bark of the tree. Her lips moved, but no sound passed them.

His eyes widened fractionally, taking in the fragile vulnerability of his queen's beauty. The hollow lines of her face reflected in a haunting fashion and her silver locks dully shifted in the blowing wind. The elegance of her form could just be viewed through the billowing fur robe draped heavily over her body.

The delicate column of her neck peeked out from the confines of her dress. Her pale skin enticed Robb to attempt a different approach as her shivers continued in a violent fashion.

Drifting towards her slowly, he paused a few feet from her back, waiting for her response. The subtle dip forward of her head was not the sign he had hoped for, but a response nonetheless.

Stepping behind her, he reached out and tenderly ran his hands down her arms. His queen tensed and drew in an inrush of air. Robb evenly rubbed her fur covered skin up and down her thin shoulders and arms.

Miriel's gaze remained stunted forward, even as she lifted her head slightly. Robb continued his gentle ministrations, his hands slow and firm against her trembling flesh. At her exhale, Robb drifted closer. With bated breath, he cradled his face against the smooth column of her neck and breathed in slightly. Angling his face further, he caressed her skin softly with his lips.

Pulse increasing, the lady did not move, even as Robb's freezing lips closed over her pulse point in a steady rhythm. His touch was light and soft, as he evenly placed butterfly light kisses over the whole side of her neck.

With patience and hesitance, Robb gripped his queen's arms lightly. He moved to turn her towards him; she moved forward instead and away from his outstretched hands.

Fingers curling into each other, he lowered his arms. His brows furrowed and his eyes pinched as he stared at the hunched figure of his wife, still shivering in the freezing air of the deepening day.

Sighing forcefully, Robb took several steps back. Miriel nearly jumped to attention at his sudden and loud movement. Small glistening tear tracks coated her face, they quickly froze in the cool breeze, causing the slightest bit of sunlight to glitter in return. The clear ringing of a child's cry was still echoing in her head.

"What is it you desire of me, my lady?" The queen's head lifted slowly, gazing at mounds of snow in confusion. She turned in place, meeting the cold and accusing ice blue stare of her husband. The red leaves rustled in the passing wind.

Her eyes jerked to the ground, studying the uneven cover of snowfall over the ground. With tremendous concentration and courage, she raised them once more, meeting the king's cold gaze with a tenacious stare of her own.

"My lord?" was her simple reply. Her tone echoing in dead calmness. A statue made of stone, judging in silence; Lady Stoneheart.

Robb's gaze narrowed in raging chaos, his eyes hardening and intensifying like an icicle. There was a sharpness that appeared in him when his anger was present, a sharpness not present in his Tully heritage.

"I had thought you had desired my affections, yet I give them and you turn away. Does my presence disgust you?" Miriel's eyes widened in pain and grief, her face pinching and mouth curling. The king's eyes blazed in return, depths of fire sparking and crackling.

"Or," he paused thoughtfully, hesitating while studying his wife's strange demeanor. "Perhaps it's guilt that rejects my advances."

His eyes narrowed in concentration, studying the wide-eyed, tear-stained face he was presented with. A haughty, mocking quality turned his face to an ugly sneer.

"Yes, perhaps it is guilt," he intoned, watching, waiting for her reaction. "Perhaps a lover? A man you love so dearly, that being with another causes pain."

He struck his words like knife wounds, cruelly twisting them into old wounds with a vicious thrust. A single solitary tear fell from Miriel's eye as she winced. Disbelief and quiet passiveness ruled her expression as her shoulders fell and head dropped.

"Look at me," Robb breathed, voice commanding and as chilling as the very air. But quiet, so very quiet and intimidating. Miriel raised her face quickly, burned by his voice. More tears glistened in unending tracks.

"Yes," he mocked, his hard gaze searching and ripping into her. "What was his name? Or did he perhaps die during the siege? Is that why you never speak of it? A pity then, Jon dying for such a cause. I fear it would have been better had Winterfell been burned to the ground."

The horrified crease to her lips increased and the ice cold gaze that swept over her face only grew icier with the deepening set of her eyes.

"Is this why you never told me of the child? Because it was never mine?" At last, Miriel's gaze changed. A strange look crossed her eyes, a wicked gleam, mixed with confusion. Robb remained silent, anger still smoldering briskly. A finger of fear crept in as hardness and suspicion appeared on his wife's face and stance.

"You never read my letters?" she finally breathed out, more of a statement than a question. Robb gazed in return, open-mouthed and stunned to silence.

"The letters have no bearing on this subject, woman," he bit back, tone hard and unbroachable.

"On the contrary, my lord," she replied, spitting the title out with scorn. The king's eyes shook with surprise. "The letters have everything to do with this."

Miriel's tone matched her king's in intensity and hardness. Gone was the watchful timidity and submission, there was a gleam in this woman's eye and spirit behind her stance.

"A few words will not exonerate months of guilt, wife," her husband returned.

The woman remained silent for several moments, her eyes a maze of subtle disbelief. Finally, she raised her chin, tipping it forward.

"Read the damn letters, Robb," she responded, deathly calm, with a touch of a mortal pallor coloring her flushed face.

With a level of completeness, Miriel turned abruptly and walked away, leaving her husband confused and shocked in her wake.

Her feet floundered in the thick snow. A few steps into her journey and Miriel stumbled and fell into an awaiting soft bed of snow; she did not rise up a few seconds later as Robb expected.

"Miriel?" he questioned. The Godswood was silent in return, there were no answers for him here. The king rushed to her motionless body.

"Long live the queen"

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**I'm slightly annoyed at Robb, he became a lot more obnoxious than I wanted him to be. But, considering how much I had to force this one shot to be written, it's not going to be surprising if some of it is a bit off. **

**Wasn't Episode 2 awesome? That song though, and Jamie knighting Brienne was so touching! I'm excited and terrified to see where it's going to go tonight. I still have the feeling that Dany might die tonight, but maybe not. She's starting to annoy me a bit too, and I'm really liking the development of Sansa's character as well. **

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**FanfavBBC:** You are really helping! Your reviews are so wonderful and full of so much helpful criticism. I can always learn something from them, which is amazing. I will try and remember that with the transitions. I'm trying to think back to some of my novels and I don't think I have quite as much trouble with transitions in them. I think because I feel I can make a novel as long and detailed as I want, while in a short story, I'm trying to think more about quality than detail. That would be an interesting way for her to go, but I'm questioning if she even makes it that long. I'm thinking she might go tonight, but it's questionable. I don't know anything at this point! I don't know the show well enough to make any legitimate theories.

**Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967: **I'm glad you liked it! I hope this chapter will be as enjoyable as the last one.

**kmhappybunny240: **Yeah, Jon is definitely giving Robb an earful, especially for not being as aware of the situation as, say, Catelyn. Yup, Robb was planning on bringing Talisa back to Winterfell with him at the end of the war. I guess the plain and simple explanation for why everyone except Robb knows is because Robb is an idiot. And Miriel is under the impression that Robb already knew and didn't care, so she never brought it up with him. I think he fell in love with Talisa because he didn't have an attachment to Miriel after they were married and separated by the war. And then after the death of his father, he needed comfort, so he went to Talisa. His guilt just kept spiraling him further and further down the path of no return. Yeah, I can see why you have a Dany attitude. I used to like her a lot more, but I'm totally Team Stark till the end as well. I wonder if any of the Starks will survive until the end though. Maybe it will be like Tyrion said; they'll all become wrights and walk down to King's Landing and kill Cersei.

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**If you like this story, then you need to check out "A Stark and His Frey" by Jemlou. It's an AU where Robb kept his word and married one of the Frey women. It's my favorite GoT fanfiction and it inspired me to write this story. It just got updated last week from, like, a 3-year hiatus. Check it out, you won't be disappointed!**

**Thank you all for reading! I hoped you liked this chapter! See ya next week!**

**Winter is coming**

**Maria de Sanctos**


	6. Gentle Mother, Font of Mercy

**Hi all! A huge, tremendous thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed in the last few months during my hiatus! I wouldn't be back if it wasn't for you guys encouraging me. I've had a hell of a past few months, hence the reason I haven't updated in ages. You can read more about my grand 'adventures' in the A/N at the end. In the meantime, please enjoy the long-awaited chapter! I stopped and started this chapter about 3 times, so if it's a bit disjointed, that's why. I'm not 100% satisfied how it turned out, but I didn't want to wait another month to post something, so voila! **

**Happy reading and please leave a review!**

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Robb paced the darkened hallways uneasily, his eyes were glued to a single door. Well worn and polished with years of use, the solitary piece of wood was the only separation between him and the silence from within. So he paced. His soft footsteps made only the slightest patter against the smooth stone bricks, their arms welcoming the steps of an old friend.

Arya and Rickon had sat leaning against the wall for some time before the long minutes of their watch turned into hours and they left for more amusing pastimes. No doubt Arya was beating up a training dummy or two and Rickon was roaming through the library or the kitchens with his snarling wolf by his side.

No longer hearing the soft murmurer of his mother's soft tones, Robb paused his pacing. Lady Catelyn had been called immediately after Robb's return from the Godswood, his unconscious wife cradled in his arms. As soon as the Maester had arrived, Catelyn had bundled her son out of the room and barred his entrance since.

He had been pacing for hours, only one or two servants had entered and left the chambers. Robb respectfully kept his distance, but his gaze could not help going to the solitary figure huddled in a too-large bed. From the distance, he could never ascertain her health. And so, he paced. Waiting for news with bated breath and a hammering heart. Jon's warning resounding through his head in return.

The pacing stopped, the murmuring from inside had resumed. He took a step closer to the door, before pausing. The hesitant voices stopped once more, in their wake an awful heart-pounding silence arose. Robb resumed his stride, but in the opposite direction. A strain lined his face as he turned to move away from the barricaded door.

The creaking of old wood alerted Robb of a change in circumstances. He turned quickly, ready to rush after whatever nameless servant was leaving the chambers. The prattle of his footsteps died in their place all too soon. Lady Catelyn's ice-cold stare met his searching gaze instead. His hands twitched, reaching for the comfort of a familiar object to grasp.

In the elder woman's gaze was only found a dark judgment, a storm cloud of anger and displeasure overwhelming her sky blue eyes. The heavy fabric of her gown rustled with her quick and sudden movements. The door clicked shut with the heavy finality that Robb so feared. She made to walk away quickly.

"Mother," was Robb's pleading call, his steps a quick patter against the smoky stone. Lady Catelyn turned towards her son, a small glimmer of unspoken pity lacing her narrowed eyes. The intensity of her gaze cowed him to silence and into shame, it did not diminish after painful seconds. The wind whistled in the distance, along with the low whine of stabled horses and pounding of a blacksmith's hammer.

"Is she well?" Robb intoned, a pleading entering his voice as his eyes softened and face pinched with fear. Catelyn's somber return gaze drew him closer to her straightening form in terror.

"Mother?" he responded to her silence. Breaking her gaze, the elder lady sighed, a hint of exhaustion coloring her breath. Her face tilted to the floor, she bid her time before breathing out a response.

"She will survive, Robb," was her answer. As his breath returned, she studied his relieved expression.

"Though in what condition, is still in question," she snapped, at her son's furrowed brows, she continued. "She murmurs constantly, speaking feverishly."

Robb's eyes narrowed in bemused frustration. His eyes flickered to the shut door barring his entrance from his ailing wife. Silence emanated from within, a chill passed through the king as his ears strained to hear even the slightest sound.

"And her words?" he finally asked, voice cautious and tone ever prepared. His fingers twitched, rustling his fur-lined cloak lightly. Catelyn's aged face wrinkled in narrowed concentration, her gaze was sharp and piercing as she analyzed his expression. She hesitated but a moment, before stepping closer and resting a hand in heavy anticipation against his bowed shoulder.

"He never read them," she declared, her voice soft, but commanding. A heavy proclamation and unspoken accusation lying in wait.

Her footsteps resounded like the drums of war against his ringing ears as she turned away from her shocked child. He eyed the shut door with concern and bit his lip. Facing the old weathered wood, he breathed deeply and crossed the distance softly with determined footsteps.

The old door was mercifully silent as he cracked it open. The smell of pungent herbs rushed past him and into the waiting air of the empty hallway, ready to greet whatever wandering stranger was unlucky to go by. Standing just beyond the limited reach of the wooden doorway, Robb gazed steadily at the scene unfolding around him.

A steady fire blazed in the ancient stone pit, the warmth of it filling the silent room almost unbearably. The bed was piled high with heavy furs and winter pelts, and beneath them, was the solitary figure of his frail wife. She breathed slowly, but even from the distance, Robb could ascertain the uncertain rise and fall of her chest. Her head was bathed with a wet cloth and her chest was covered with another.

The aged maester sat nearby, his hand gripping the bony one of the queen. In her sleep, her head rolled restlessly, words murmured soundlessly in return. Her pale visage was a fragile reminder of death, the smell of sickness was heavy in the air.

Head tossing in quick succession, Miriel's face landed in her stunned husband's direction. Robb gazed upon the haggard face, lines of pain and grief still ingrained deeply, even in sleep. Her words flitted through his head.

"Read the damn letters, Robb."

He could probably count on one hand the number of times she had called him by name. He'd been told multiple times to read her letters. By Jon. His mother. And now his wife. He'd put it off too long. As Jon had said, he'd become the enemy in his own castle. If he lost his gentle wife, he would lose his tenacious grip on the reality of his world.

Her face loosened and turned blank, and Robb could count every single tear that fell from her marbled countenance. The maester's knowing eyes met his and the elder man nodded once in return as his focus resumed on the young woman under his care. The king stared a moment longer, before rotating and exiting the haunting room.

The deep russet curls rustled in place as he swiftly ascended to his study. The hallways were suspiciously empty, even the usual servants who frequented them were missing. The burn of torches lit whatever the stars could not illuminate. The very air was haunted with the memories of a thousand nights.

Shuddering, Robb stepped into the darkened room quickly. The angles on his face flickered with the wandering moonlight. A candle flared to life before he moved swiftly through the chilled room. He paused a moment, gazing out the opened window.

The stars shone with brightness echoing the onslaught of Winter. The chill of it had already come down from the North, bringing its icy grip with it. Arya and Rickon, layered in multitudes of furs and heavy cloaks, reached for the snowy depths in innocent joy. There was no impending understanding of doom or what the North brought with its welcoming snows.

With a controlled crash, Robb swung the shutters closed. Turning, he moved toward the blackened fireplace. With firm strokes, he managed to coax a fluttering flame into existence. In the space of a few minutes, the room emanated with the glow of warmth. Robb moved with swift sureness, lighting several more candles and adding to the gentle tone of the room.

He paused, the hesitance in his stance resounding through his tense shoulders and pinched face. His lips thinned in mild annoyance, taking a cautious step back towards the fireplace, and then another, and another. He stared at the smooth wood of a single chest.

The dents and nicks of the weathered wood were a testament to things it had endured and seen in its short life. Smoothing his hand over the richly carved sigil of his House, Robb lowered himself to the ground. He took a moment, just to run his hand over the soothing carvings. Like greeting an old friend, he pushed up the heavy lid and gazed into the tumbled depths below.

Layers upon layers of memories met his shaking conscious. Talisa's hair ribbons, a stray bit of jewelry, and perhaps a letter or two. A dagger or some fine piece of metalwork was laid carelessly over fine pieces of silk and tailored leather. War treaties and maps were crumpled and thrown carelessly over sharp knives and leather-bound books.

Near the bottom, wrapped in white silk and tied with a red ribbon, was a bundle of letters. Short missives that a raven carried from Winterfell upon blistering winds. A strange sense of relief etched itself on his ashen face. Unbidden, memories of the young girl he had met long ago in Cirtothiel came to him.

She was a beautiful creature, with clear silver eyes, unmarred by grief and containing strength from a ripe and hale body. She had the innocence of youth, untouched by war and terror. Not for the first time, he wondered if it wouldn't have been better to send her brother North and taken her South.

Stretching forth, Robb drug the nearest chair closer to the flickering ember light of the roaring fire. Settling tensely against it, he turned the smoothly wrapped package over in his hands, tracing wrinkles and rustles of paper inside. He untied the silk tie quickly and let it fall to the ground.

Turning the worn paper in his hands, Robb unfolded the top letter. A ragged seal proved this particular letter had been opened some time ago. Holding it up to the  
flickering candlelight, Robb began his vigil.

Northwest of White Harbor  
My dear Robb

How strange it is to carry on an argument with myself over a greeting, yet I find it difficult to address you with any affection. You, a stranger, traveling to fight a war in the South, and I, a child leading an army to the North.

Father has left us at White Harbor, Lord Manderly would not let us pass further North. I was forced to show written proof of our alliance; your lords are fiercely loyal to you. We intend to pass to Castle Cerwyn and move to Winterfell from there. We hope to recruit from Northern castles the farther we travel.

I am being called for a war council, I fear this letter will be short. I ask that you write back with further instructions, I find the North charming in manner and countryside, but I fear I will be a bumbling fool trying to play warrior amidst such great and fearsome men.

I hope this war may be over soon, so perhaps we may enjoy those firelit evenings you promised so fondly. Be safe, my husband, if not for me, then for your people.

Miriel Stark

Robb paused in thought, they had been married sparse weeks by then. She was still a child in mind, spared from the horrors of famine and war. He remembered the feeling of guilt after reading his wife's first letter; guilt for marrying a child, a woman not yet grown. He felt even worse for desiring her, wishing for a soft body to curl next to in the lonely, fear-driven nights.

Quickly, he tore into another letter, banishing the haunts of a younger man.

Torrhen's Square  
My Lord Husband

Word reached us of your victory in the Battle of the Whispering Woods, your prowess as a leader has brightened our spirits. Our own battles have been numerous and quick. The farther we travel, the worse our opposition besets us.

How fearsome is war. Though I am only an onlooker, I find the state of chaos and terror to be worthy of fear. The aftermath is worse. I have walked battlefields, seen things no man should ever see. Why must such horror exist? Throughout history, man has battled, why do we not avoid this massacre?

Come home to us soon, my lord. Your people are awaiting your arrival with contained joy.

Miriel Stark

A vision of dark hair and exotic beauty filled his mind. The Battle of the Whispering Woods had brought his attention to Talisa for the first time. A stab of guilt hit him as he grimaced. He was languishing in the arms of Talisa while his lady wife was being torn asunder with the visions of war. Stealing his breath, Robb continued with the next letter.

Winterfell  
My King

I was pleased to hear the news of your coronation, my king. I offer my loyalty and fealty to you, and may it please you that Winterfell is once more under your command. The castle was pillaged and burned, but we captured the Ironborn soldiers not many miles from here.

I have received word from my father in Pyke, he has defeated the Iron Fleet and has taken control of the islands. We are negotiating a treaty, we intend to make this one the last, my king.

I am leaving a small garrison at Winterfell and sending the rest of my troops South to Riverrun to join your forces. Those that remain have begun the difficult rebuilding of the castle. I have written South in hopes that caravans may find their way North before the coming Winter, bringing much-needed food and supplies.

I have received no word from Ramsey Bolton, my king. We anxiously await his arrival in hopes that he has your instructions in continuing the reconquest of the North; his vanishment has left us concerned and restless.

I hope these tasks I have accomplished in your name please you, your grace, and I wish to reassure you, my king, that your royal line will continue. The maester has confirmed my recent suspicions; I am carrying your child. He tells me I will give birth in the dwindling Fall. When the dead leaves drop, the gentle coo of a tiny babe will replace their rustling.

Miriel Stark

His hands shook, losing their tenacious grip upon frail, brittle paper. The letter floated silently to the floor, resting in gentle peace as its journey ended. Miriel gave him a child. He was a father. Thoughts rushed through his head quickly, happy thoughts of a young man, the simple thoughts ingrained in every man. My child.

Yet, there was no babe. By now, it should have been a little over a year old, babbling obliviously and toddling along on unsteady legs. It should have been nestled peacefully in his young wife's arms. The image catches him off guard in the perfection of it, how had he never imagined his womanly wife with the resting head of a babe against her soft bosom?

A clench of the heart brushes aside all surprise and delight, instead, he reaches for another letter, hastily ripping apart the ornate seal. His wife's curving script blurs in his eyes as he searches for mentions of this phantom child.

I find myself thinking of your child often, I like to think he will have your fiery hair and strong features, perhaps with my father's eyes. I imagine, at times, that I can feel him turning about inside me, but the maester assures me that it is too soon to feel him move.

Robb's murmured rustle of speech slips and wavers at his wife's slip of the tongue. A son. Another letter meets the growing pile.

I felt him move about me today. The maester will not tell me if he thinks I am to have a son, but my mother knew when she had hers and I believe that a mother is the most likely to know.

A tear dripped from wide eyes. Hurriedly, they searched through another letter, ignoring a growing tension easing its way into his wife's stressed words.

Your son is quite large now, my king. He delights in kicking me constantly, I wish you could experience this wonder. He is our bright ray of hope in our desperation. Even as our provisions run lower, the people smile and laugh as we pass. The hope of a prince never diminishes even as our hope in outlasting this siege does.

The flames flickered sluggishly in the gathering gloom as the winds howled harder. The cold seeped further through the room, curling around the outlying corners of the room. Shivers pulled Robb closer to the fire, yet the cold did not touch him. Visions of those dead eyes staring at nothing filled his mind, how long had they been empty?

One letter remained untouched from the pile. It was the last one, untouched and unopened like the others. This one was different. Robb turned it over in his hands, he wanted to be angry. Being forced to read the letters instead of hearing a few simple words. Yet, had he have listened to his mother's gentle urgings or Jon's concerned pleas?

With an aching pain instilled somewhere deep inside him, he gently peeled the seal from the singular letter. With shaking fingers, he smoothed it over, delaying the inevitable. Somehow he knew the phantom child was not missing by accident.

Winterfell  
Robb

Your son was born dead, your grace (The finality of the words left him numb. He imagined the dead monotone that accompanied her declaration.) The Bolton's continue to hold Winterfell in siege. I will not sue for peace and surrender your castle to traitors. We will hold until we die of starvation or burn in our beds. It appears I have failed you in all I promised, my king.

Miriel

A drop of water hit the paper, soaking through in a narrow circle. Another quickly followed as the letter slipped through senseless fingers. Forcing a clammy palm to rise, Robb attempted to shore up his tear-stained eyes. Dry sobs choked his voice and his body heaved as it attempted to suck in enough air to breathe. The king mourned his dead child and cruelly treated wife in utter silence; the echoes of a phantom child's cry and the pungent smell of birthing blood drifting through the air unhindered.

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The winds from the North sung their songs of grief, echoing through the castle walls as it was dressed in the garb of mourning for a child long mourned in silence. Fervent prayers were offered to the Mother as their faithful queen still did not wake; the king did not leave her side for many days.

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**I'm just gonna mention real quick because I haven't posted anything since Episode 2 came out, I adored Episode 3! That was amazing. I was especially touched by Theon's death. I never liked his character much, but that redemption arc was flawless. Personally, I thought the show ended decently, it was rushed, but I liked the ending otherwise. I don't really understand everyone's abhorrence to it, but that's just me and we're all entitled to our own opinions I guess.**

**Did I mention it has been a hell of a past few months? So I started this one-shot the week after I posted "A Game of Words" and within a few days, I realized I had lost my notebook that had my rough draft in it (I didn't want to try and type it up without reviewing it) and it took me more than a month to find it. I found my notebook about two days before I was scheduled to fly out of Minneapolis for France where I was taking part in a three-day religious pilgrimage and ten-day tour. I didn't get back home until the end of June. **

**I tried working on this when I got back, but I kept having a bunch of problems come up at both work and home that kept me busy, stressed, and emotionally detached. So it's been a rough past couple of months. But, the good news is that I'm back! Hopefully, I can get a semi-regularly posting schedule put together so you all have something to read for the next few months. I'm back because of all my dear readers and a special thank you to **Lalyh17** for reviewing and being excited enough to ask for an update! You're the reason I posted today, so thank you so much!**

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**kmhappybunny240: **It is pretty sad, isn't it? I feel like this story is just one tragedy after the other. Maybe I should retag it as Tragedy instead of Drama because really, its gonna get much, much worse. Welp, she's not going to yell, but she's definitely not going to be as submissive as she was. She's got some sparks coming soon, Robb is about to get burned. Since she hasn't woken up yet, I'm not going to say if she's hurt or not. I think I'm going to write an interlude for next time, so it could be a bit before you find out her state of health. :/ Thank you for reviewing! I look forward to your comments for this chapter.

P.S. None of us were ready for what happened during Episode 3... :(

**Guest: **You'll have to wait a couple more weeks before finding out how she's doing. ;) I was honestly surprised more characters didn't die during Episode 3, but the deaths we had hurt a lot. Masterful episode.

**Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967:** More as hoped for! Took me almost three months, but it's here at last! Thank you so much for reviewing!

**Delaine: **Thank you so much for your kind words! It's always nice to hear someone say it's well written, it makes me feel a little better about my writing and believe it isn't total trash. I have a pretty good outline done for this story, but these one-shots are a little more everyday stuff that I haven't flushed out completely. So technically, I could end up being just as surprised as you are when it's finished. I'm glad you're looking forward to what comes next. I hope you will continue to read all the way to the end, I have an ending cooking up that I think everyone will be super shocked over. ;) Thank you so much for reviewing! I look forward to hearing more from you soon.

**Lalyh17: **Thank you so much for your review! It was the kick in the ass I needed to get this one shot finished and published! I hope you like Robb's reaction, I didn't delve too deeply into it, but I tried to do it justice. I mean really, how does one write something like that and do it justice? It's kind of tragic. I hope you will continue reading and leave a review! I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter and further chapters down the road! Thank you!

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**Till next update, dear readers! I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter and as always,**

**Winter is Coming**

**Maria de Sanctos**


	7. The Battle of Winterfell

**Hey all! Yes, I'm alive! Woot woot! I am incredibly sorry for the long wait for this update. It's been a nutty Fall for me. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story and to all the kind reviews and followers and favorites! **

**NEWS FLASH**

**I have some very important news about this story at the end of this update. Especially for my guest readers, this will affect you quite a bit, so please be sure to check it out.**

**This chapter was a beast to write. I must have started and stopped about six times and I had to delete and rewrite one portion about 3 times. So it's discombobulated and not my best writing. I hope everyone enjoys this filler though! I felt a little back story might be good before we start into some tough chapters. **

**Enjoy! Leave a review and let me know what you thought!**

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**The Battle of Winterfell**

**16 months earlier**

Jon didn't recall the castle walls being black before, or the missing thatch from the winding towers. Neither was the silver-haired woman standing on the walls familiar. Yet Jon knew her. Her missive was an unwanted call to arms; a reminder of the family he once had.

In her last letter, her words finally won him over where dozens of pleas before had done nothing. Duty be damned, he would not let Sansa, Bran, and Rickon fall into traitor hands again. So with the remainder of Stannis Baratheon's troops, he marched to Winterfell, abandoning his post and committing treason against the Watch.

With scarce hundreds under his command, Jon began to see the folly of his plan. After weeks of forced march through blinding snow and piercing wind, Jon and his small army arrived at Winterfell. As he surveyed the battlefield before him, hopelessness seized him. Hoisted in Winter Town and throughout the countryside were Bolton flags. There must have been at least two thousand men entrenched in warmth. Whereas he was encamped in a forest, not daring to warm up with a fire.

"Look, Jon, upon the castle walls," Davos Seaworth beckoned, pointing towards a minuscule figure standing upon the ramparts over the gate. Silver grey hair floated in the whispering winds, from a distance, she wore the look of a ghost. A band of riders sat in stillness before the gates, their eyes upon the harrowing lady on the ramparts. No doubt Ramsay Bolton was parelying to win the castle without a fight.

She stood like one of the stone statues in the crypts, silent and still. Only her hair blew in the bitter northern winds. Jon thought he could make out the slightest details of her face, it was pale and cold. Empty as the stricken hills surrounding the castle for miles and gaunt like the shadows of weathered stone. There was a fittingness to the lady of the North, her appearance resembled the lands she ruled.

"She'd be smart to surrender the castle and save her soldiers," remarked the wizened man beside Jon, but Jon's gaze never faltered. He had eyes only for the woman. This was his brother's wife, this was Lady Stark. The queen in the North; Queen Miriel. She was no child as Robb had once claimed. The wind whispered it's cold words as he tilted his head towards his companion.

"She won't give up Winterfell. It's not in her blood," his eyes drifted over as he turned to his loyal knight. "Look how she stands."

With a light step and quick gait, Jon turned from the ridge, moving back to the Wolfswood where his troops shivered in growing agitation. Haunting grey eyes followed his retreat from a distance. Ser Davos quickly turned to match his steps, a rolling quality meeting his gait. The jingle of reins alerted passing creatures of the presence of their horses. Their warmth was soothing in the bitter cold.

"How many men are we able to take onto the field?" Jon inquired of his companion, swinging a leg over the delicate balance of his midnight mare. She shifted uneasily, no doubt picking up the distant sounds of an encamped army.

"You would be lucky to get a thousand ready to fight with any strength by the morrow," replied the older man, his eyes steadily gazing in earnest at his young companion. "But, Jon, this isn't the fight we want. We can't lift the siege with our numbers."

"What are you asking me to do, Ser Davos?" Jon asked, eyes hard and stormily staring down his companion. Ser Davos was not cowed to silence by the younger man's sternness.

"I'm asking you to rethink a rash decision," he paused a moment but quickly continued when Jon seemed quick to reply. "You can't save the castle, and perhaps not even the people inside it. I know you came to save your family, but all you will accomplish is a slaughter. You need more men."

Jon did not respond immediately. He surveyed the surrounding countryside. The Wolfswood rose up majestically with its welcoming boughs reaching out towards weary travelers. Its secrets were encompassed in heavy darkness, waiting to be discovered by wandering eyes. His gaze fell to the scarce thousand troops he managed to scrape together from Stannis Baratheon's scattered soldiers and from Last Hearth and Deepwood Motte. Too many Baratheon men had not seen the harshness of Winter in many a year.

"I made a vow, Ser Davos," Jon replied after the silence stretched on unbearably. His gaze shifted from its musings ahead to his companion on his right. "I made a vow to the Night's Watch that I would leave my family behind; I broke that vow. I can't let that choice be in vain."

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The night grew bitterly cold, a fresh dusting of snow began its long descent down from the midnight skies. It was past the second watch when Jon and Ser Davos remained alone in the large war tent. Their council had been long and fraught with disappointments and disagreements.

"If we turn back now, we'll lose half of them to the Winter," supplied Jon, his frustration tempered itself in the long low gaze viewing the flickers of a small fire.

"If we stay, we'll lose all of them," Ser Davos countered. Jon sighed deeply, rethinking his approach. He slowly rubbed wind burned hands together, letting their warmth transport itself evenly.

"Look, Jon," the older man replied, his voice dropped lower, fighting against the cruel, chilling whispers of the Northern winds. "Any choice you make will have consequences. You're not walking out of this without a cost. The question is, what are you willing to pay?"

The trail of noise scattered outside their tent, billowing far and wide it increased and decreased incrementally. Jon hesitated, face pinched and thoughtful. His hands were loosely clasped and hanging between his legs, he relaxed in lazy thought. His eyes blazed with the reflection of a thousand flames.

"I want my family back, is that too high a cost?" he asked softly, eyes a mismatching pair of grieving globes.

Davos said nothing in reply, he sat and he stared at the man opposite him. So different from many men he had met and served in his long life. Honor and dignity enveloped him in their cold embrace, he should have been a different man, but he wasn't.

"My Lord?" a shivering voice whispered from the starry night without, the wind whispered it's bitterly cold greeting in return.

"Enter," Jon replied, his eyes watching the entrance to the billowing tent. He and Davos quickly rose to their feet as the sentry entered the room, briefly followed by a thin, pale man with a long white braid. Jon and his companion locked eyes a moment, equal parts confusion being shared. Jon did not move a muscle, save for the subtle flex of slender fingers. Their guest's eyes immediately glanced at the slight movement, his returning gesture was the slight incline of a veiled head.

"Whom do I have the honor of addressing?" his voice low and cultured with sharp inflections. He stood, not the slightest bit bowed in stature, though his cheeks were sunken and sallow.

"We'll be having your name first, soldier," replied Ser Davos, his voice accentuated by his roughened accent. Jon remained silent, gazing at this ghostly vision with keen suspicion. Their visitor let a phantom smile pull upon his lips, the corners creasing.

"My name is unimportant, but who I serve brings more bearing upon our current situation," he responded, his voice so soft and alluring in its mystery. He was calm and still.

"You come from Winterfell?" Jon inquired, a faint relaxing in his manner as the soldier inclined his head in confirmation. "Whom do you serve?"

"I come from Ciroth, with my lady, Lady Stark."

"Lady Stark?" Ser Davos questioned, his eyes broadcasting his bemusement and confusion. Jon's own confusion matched, but only a moment. Memories surfaced, desperate letters sent weeks ago brought their glaring gaze upon him.

"Miriel Stark," Jon supplied, eyes holding a challenge to his guest. "Wife of Robb Stark."

"And current ruler of Winterfell."

"For how long?" challenged Davos, his voice pointed and sharp. The gaze that met his was equally as sharp and far more fierce.

"That will depend on you, my lords." Jon lowered his eyes in contemplation.

"I am Jon Snow, bastard son of Ned Stark. This is Davos Seaworth, he served under Stannis Baratheon." A hint of kindness broke through their guest's eyes at the names, he met their gazes as each name was said.

"I am Thaleon, chief of my lady's assassins. She bid me to pass this letter onto the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," he replied, a long thin sheet of frail paper uncovered itself from within his black garments. He kept a firm grasp on it, even as his gaze met Jon's. "I would assume that is you, my lord?"

Jon nodded briefly, reaching for the proffered letter. Jon scarcely noted Ser Davos offering the young man bread and wine; his attention was firmly held by the weak words scrawled upon the brittle paper. Not for the first time, Jon wondered what sort of woman his brother had married. She was well-spoken and diplomatic, yet honorable and gentle. She had won him over.

Jon interrupted the conversation that Davos and the young assassin had started.

"How many fighting men are garrisoned in the castle?"

Thaleon rose to his feet with the practiced ease he was ingrained in.

"We have a scarce hundred we can fight with, but many are in no condition to be of use. You would do better to leave them within the castle where they can cause damage in small ambushes."

"To do so, we'd have to position ourselves within range of your archers," Davos added, easing himself into the conversation.

"That would not be difficult to accomplish," the pale assassin replied, pointing to the rough drawing of the castle walls. "Tis still early enough in the night for you to start moving troops to the wall of the Godswood."

"We'd never be able to move that far without alerting the Boltons," Davos hurriedly exclaimed, his eyes upon Jon instead of the assassin. Jon's eyes held a certain distasteful resolve as he viewed the receding walls of the castle.

"I assure you, my lord, we have plans for the night that will render the usurper incapable of lending his ear to the noise of moving troops," Thaleon responded, his molten eyes upon Jon. Within their haunted depths spoke a thousand words and memories of the days of youth, and the long hours of training.

Jon eyed the pale apparition standing in front of him with the ease of a statue. The dark of night curled around the pale face like a comforting friend, relishing in his company like a lover. His eyes though, his eyes held the night sky in them. Twinkling and wheeling like the stars above.

"Your men are capable?" Davos inquired, a gentle question of the utmost importance. A smile curled kindly around the thin lips of the ghost.

"We've caused such a disturbance to Ramsay Bolton that three months of siege is starting to wear thin on him."

A shiver of tingling laughter escaped from Jon, his eyes beheld a simple mirth of a child in glee. Thaleon's smile grew.

"We've lessened his fighting men by a few hundred," he added. Jon and Ser Davos shared a short glance, partaking in a conversation without words.

"You have a plan for the upcoming battle?" Jon asked, lending his ear to the seasoned soldier and submitting his troops without words. Ser Davos leaned back in his chair and listen attentively.

"Of course," replied the young man with a smirk. "Ramsay Bolton will arrive at the gates at midday tomorrow, to parley. He will have his troops arrayed in battle position, but they've grown lax in discipline after three months, they will be sloppy and disorderly, unable to move quickly.

"Lady Stark will respond, as usual, bidding them to abandon their siege and present themselves to King Robb so he may judge their actions. Lord Bolton will insult her, and turn to ride away. With his back turned to our walls, we will release three volleys, the third will set fire to the dried grass, we will ensure it has been soaked in oil tonight. During the landing of the third volley, you will march your troops around the East side of the castle and into his unsuspecting army.

"With whatever cavalry you can muster, you will send them around the West side of the castle walls, where they will charge into the rear of our besiegers."

"Between the hammer and the anvil," Ser Davos reckoned, eyeing Jon.

"Precisely," replied Thaleon, folding his arms and gazing down at the map table. He had moved the pieces to correspond with his battle plan. "With luck, we will create mass panic."

Jon studied the outlined map, his eyes tracing the lines and figurines of troops. His voice let loose in a sigh, looking up, he met Ser Davos' heavy stare. He nodded his head slightly, speaking a silent pronouncement. The grey-haired man rose to his feet, he took a few steps before reaching out his hand to the young assassin.

"I hope we meet again at the end of this battle, young man," he challenged, but not without a tinge of begrudging respect. Thaleon smiled warmly in reply, his eyes twinkling in mischief.

"I'm counting on it, Ser Davos," he replied, grasping the offered hand warmly. Ser Davos lingered only a moment before quickly striding from the war tent and awakening the fragile peace in camp.

Jon and the assassin remained in utter stillness for a few minutes. The dread running through the barren tent was stifling. Breathing became difficult, as the body bowed under such baleful measures. The desperation was palpable.

"Tell me of my brother's wife," Jon asked, breaking the fragile stillness.

Thaleon smiled slowly, he gazed at nothing while thoughts rushed behind his eyes. Fondness softened the sharp lines of a hallowed face.

"You will learn of her tomorrow," he replied, ending a discussion that never started.

* * *

Distant echoes of screams resounded in the ringing silence. Here and there, not only the quiet bodies of the dead but mangled limbs, unrecognizable amidst charred skin from fire and the heavy steps of war horses. Blood coated wheat-colored grass and in little hollows, it ran in black rivers. Shreds of banners, pale in the sunless glow, waved their matted streaks of fabric.

Birds of prey, wheeling in circles high above would drop to some quiet corner of the field of slaughter and commence their feast. Loudly cooing all the while as they feasted on blood and flesh. Man and horse scattered, some alive, many dead. The God of Death was appeased.

Bloody hands held up their sacrifices. Claiming to serve a higher cause as they slashed and beheaded their brothers. War was an art; survival was instinctive. Surveying the carnage, Jon could not help but view it as a massive waste of instinct. Man heaping bloodshed on his fellow man to survive another day. Burning, thrusting, swiping, trampling. So many ways to survive. What was the survival of another day? Another nightmare of red haze filling an endless battlefield.

What had the slaughter been for? It was senseless he pondered, stepping across broken bodies in a numb trance. He didn't stop to view the chaos or wreckage. His blood and dust-covered face a canvas upon which the face of war was painted.

And then he saw her. Leaning heavily against one of her thin, black-robed assassins, was Lady Stark. Nothing about her was wonderous or inspiring. She was gaunt and pale. Grey hues of Winter days colored her haggard face as she meandered across the carnage, viewing the wreckage before her with tired eyes, betraying only hints of a mind caught behind them.

The hand holding hers was tight and the one threaded across her back was protective. Signaling a weakness in the shivering lady. Jon was only half aware as he slowly changed directions and trudged towards her wandering figure. He watched as her eyes swept the battlefield, occasionally, she reached down to let her slender figures sweep over a hint of skin. Her expression never changed, she was like ice, frozen in time, forever trapped in one moment.

His sword still in one hand, he stalked up to these spectators on the battlefield. With gentle eyes, Miriel swept towards him.

"Jon Snow," she breathed as he stopped mere inches from her. In a flurry of hesitant movement, she released her guide's hand and dropped to her knees in front of Jon. Momentarily he watched without twitching as she reached out with her shaking, bony hands and grasped his blood-covered one.

Heedless of the muck now coating her dress, of blood and body fluid, mud and charred remains, she stroked the blood-covered hand before effortlessly bending forward and kissing it. Tears lined hollow eyes as she caressed it, holding it to her face and rocking slightly. The hand on her back did not hinder her. Indeed as Jon met the eyes of her protector, he found no shame nor warning there, only kind relief and thanksgiving.

Unable to stand the gentle ministrations of such benevolent people, Jon knelt in the blood beside the white-haired lady. Surrounded by bodies, it might have been remembered as a great moment within the annals of memory. Instead, it was but a passing moment on a blood-drenched battlefield as a grateful woman bowed to her savior.

The hand that had remained so still as it was kissed and caressed morphed suddenly in movement. The bowed head, flecked now with blowing dust, raised and Jon met the eyes of his brother's wife. The clear grey depths flickered as though staring into a ghost. His bloody hands encircled her fragile face, her pale skin set alight by the streaks of blood now coating it. His kinswoman was beautiful beneath her hollow disheveled appearance.

How easy he thought, as he swiftly grasped her hands and lifted her to her feet. How easy it would have been for her to stay within the castle walls. She need not view the desolation without. Instead, she kept a silent vigil for the soldiers who had unwittingly fought for her. She knows; their blood is on her hands.

Supported on shaky legs, she swayed before tipping into him. His arms reached to catch her, embracing the shaking form protectively. A single glance to the silver-haired assassin behind was all it took for the apparition to release his grip. With sure hands, no longer shaking from adrenaline, Jon shifted her until she rested easily within his arms. Her body felt much too thin beneath copious furs. She made no mention of being held in his arms as he trudged back to the walls that were once his home.

* * *

"Jon!" Had his hands not been full, Jon would have reached out and caught the streaming figure with all the joy of greeting a sibling he thought he would never have seen again. Her voice had changed, she had grown, taller than her mother now, but just as elegant. And her copper-red hair streamed behind her as it had always done when she was a child beneath the nurturing walls.

The slumbering figure in his arms did not awake as Sansa snuck her hand around the crook of his elbow. Resting her soft head against his shoulder as he kissed her white cheek. She was thin as all were in the castle, but not as dangerously as the lady within his arms.

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but Sansa interrupted as her pretty smile morphed to concern.

"This way. The Maester is on the battlefield I fear, but I'm certain one of her handmaidens can be of assistance," Sansa led the way as Jon followed, the bite and chill of the heavy Winter winds gradually receded in the dark shadows of the long hallways. They were so familiar, the winding pathways and warm corners of his childhood. He and Robb had conversed so freely then, but children, without expectations or cares.

Even Sansa was no longer the bratty child he had once remembered. There was a heaviness and terror to her eyes and manner. Her quick hands were industrious as they prepared the coverlets and moved the heavy pelts aside. Her voice soft and gentle, even as she yelled for a Lady Alaine.

The room that Jon knew once as well as his own seemed so strange now, the little feminine touches were out of place. Where once stood training swords, cloaks, and piles of letters and correspondence their father had given Robb to sort out, now stood a collection of bottles, brushes, and other womanly items. Winterfell was not the same castle he remembered.

Sansa led him out as Lady Miriel's handmaiden's rushed from unknown places to assist their lady. Jon noted that none of them bore the trademark silver hair of their lady. Jon did not inquire where his little sister was leading him. Instead, he followed in silent obedience.

The shouts and dins from the red-stained fields reached the silence within. It seemed to him that the noise had increased within the last hour. Perhaps the shock had worn off from the tired faces.

Sansa, at last, stopped in front of a door he thought he'd never see again. A door that his hazy eyes just barely made out in the dusky torchlight. She stepped sideways, a coy smile gracing her tender lips. With a half step forward, he pushed the creaking door and was greeted with a sight that had not changed. Sansa stepped in behind him, shutting the door firmly.

* * *

"Miriel made sure to prepare everything when Thaleon returned last night, she wanted your old quarters to be aired and ready for when you arrived victorious," Sansa murmured, busying her hands with some task that he could not make out from the mirror. Fresh water was quickly dirtied as he set about washing the blood and soot from his face and hands. The murky surface reflected the light of a thousand candles.

"She must have had great faith in us to assume we would return victorious," he muttered in response, setting about drying a roughened face that was dripping with water. Sansa smiled softly, a bitter tinge to her rose lips.

Jon turned quickly, watching as she stilled and sat stiffly in a chair before the fire.

"Sansa," he whispered softly, her face shot up, meeting his questioning gaze with a hesitant face. "How did you get here?"

She smiled and dropped her face, the bitter tinge entering those expressive eyes again. Biting her lip, she stared at the fire.

"How did I escape King's Landing? Or how did I avoid being raped by Ramsey Bolton?" Jon eased into the chair next to her, appreciating the gentle glow of the rippling fire. He said nothing, only waiting for her to respond when she was ready. She smiled again, before shifting in her chair to face him.

"That pig told her what he planned on doing to me. Night hadn't set before she demanded Thaleon find a way to rescue me. It shouldn't have worked, but it did. I slipped from under Ramsey Bolton's watch at the cost of one of her soldiers. Fifteen men were willing to sacrifice their lives to save me, seems a fair trade that only one died."

Her words were not warm, neither did they inspire great comfort. A simple tale of survival, nothing more.

"And what do you think of the new lady of Winterfell?" Genuine warmth lit up Sansa's eyes. They fairly glowed in kindness.

"Robb was blessed by the gods," she replied simply, that little smile vanished in a wreath of sadness. "It is a pity about the child. I fear she may not recover for some time."

Jon eyed her in confused silence but a moment. His eyebrows fusing together in a quest for understanding.

"She lost the baby from starvation. It would have been a boy had it survived, and Robb would have an heir. Instead," she paused, taking a slow breath. "It was born dead. Never to experience a rush of air on its own or be held in its mother's arms."

Sansa's downcast and grieving face made Jon hesitant to ask his next question. A gentle nudge against his own thoughts forced the painful inquiry out.

"And Robb? Does he know nothing?"

Sansa sniffed, watching the flames dance in unison. Wondering if perhaps Robb wasn't watching the fire in a campground many miles away from them at the same time.

"Miriel hasn't received a reply to any of her letters. We fear that they have entered the hands of our enemies. In truth though, I believe that he has turned his back on her, choosing his mistress in place of his queen."

* * *

Jon would never forget those days beneath the warm castle walls of Winterfell; as he became the savior of his people. In truth though, to his dying days, he would always say that he didn't save Winterfell, that he didn't save the North. It was the white-haired woman who knelt in the blood and kissed his hands. It was the woman who starved to save her people. It was the woman who lost her child to save a nation not her own.

And Jon would never forget the slim figure as it grew smaller and smaller in the distance, surrounded by his brothers and sister, as she opened her arms to him and embraced him as a brother. He wouldn't forget it when he returned to the Night's Watch and was branded a traitor, nor when stabbed and bleeding to death in the snow. His dying thoughts were on a woman who inspired his loyalty. And one day, he thought, as his funeral pyre breathed back life into his cold body, she would do so again. For, the North remembers.

* * *

**If I haven't said it before, I'm going to say it now, it's really hard to write Jon. He's a hard narrator to work with. I tried using multiple narrators to achieve the result I wanted, but it just wasn't jiving right. So the result is interesting. And thus, we finally have the battle of Winterfell wrapped up. I wanted to write the actual battle, but that's the part I ended up writing three times before just deciding to scrap it and use the aftermath. I think that achieved the result I wanted more so than actually writing the battle would have. **

**NEWS FLASH**

**Alright, important story information for everyone. I am changing the title and description of this book. It will now be called "No Honor in Chains". I've decided to turn this into my book by telling the stories in little pieces and using interludes. I will make the switch in about two or three chapters. I will also possibly be updating the rating to M in a couple of chapters due to allusions to rape or questionable non-con. That doesn't mean I will be writing a sex scene though. I'm just a little touchy about how I want to rate it. A big thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story and given it a chance. I hope I've done it justice to you all. I'm really looking forward to how it's going to shape up in the next few chapters.**

**END OF NEWS FLASH**

**kmhappybunny240: **LOL. As always, I enjoyed reading your review! He's in quite a bit of trouble, isn't he? I wonder what his mother is going to say once she finds out he knows. Yeah, it would have been nice if they could have stretched the story out a little more, it felt a bit cramped. But can we all agree that episode 3 was amazing? :) I hope to hear more from you soon!

**Wolfygirlxx:** Thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I wasn't sure how everyone was going to take it, it's a bit of an odd plot, not your normal OC story I hope.

**Guest1: **I updated! Yay! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. My feelings exactly. It's hard to try and write him as a likable character that has made a lot of mistakes. I feel like I'm failing miserably in that respect. And it's only going to get worse, sooo... Ohhh, the gods are going to get their karma, trust me. It only gets worse for both of them. I don't honestly believe that he loved Miriel, they never had time to try and develop love, granted, he could have made a better effort, but he's human, like the rest of us. I believe he did and would have loved his baby though. I don't think any man could not love his own child.

**kankananime123: **You know the funny part? Well, actually I'm not going to spoil it for you. ;) We'll get back to Miriel and Robb in the next chapter. Hopefully, I pull a plot twist that will surprise everyone.

**prydain: **I'm glad it was worth the wait! I did enjoy writing that chapter a lot, I thought it went really well. I hope you enjoy this one too! It doesn't have the drama of Robb and Miriel dancing around each other in it, but I thought it came out okay. Gives some necessary backstory to kind of fill in the gaps that have been sitting around.

**HopelessRomantic44: **I need the emoji with the heart eyes! Your review is so sweet! I'm so glad you're enjoying it and you like Miriel. Writing OCs can be tough, you have to avoid all the common tropes that seem to like to come up. Like the, they magically fall deeply in love with their opposite character without explanation or they fix everything. I'm not fond of those stories and I struggle really hard not to write them.

**Guest2: **Yahoo! Soul shaking was what I was going for! Profuse apologies for taking so long to update, but I hope you like this chapter as much. It's a bit flat in comparison to that last chapter, but it has a good build-up for what I need to happen down the road.

**Guest3: **:D Well, technically she didn't forgive him in this chapter. Lol. We'll be back to those two dancing around each other in the next chapter, and let me tell you, there is about to be a big fight. ;) Stay tuned.

**jelpy1: **Thank you for your thought out review! I really enjoyed reading it and it made me rethink some things. When I first started this, I intended to post the first one shot and then post the other ones as separate stories. So the description isn't really for the whole story, just the first one. I'm glad you did point that out too because that gave me the reminder that I needed to see about getting a new story idea and description. It gave me the little nudge I needed. Your story is so on point. That's an excellent example. Robb does need something to force him out of his trauma and selfishness. I've seen cases like this before. He's been through a lot for as young as he was though and he isn't handling it well. I hope you enjoy this chapter! And I hope you write another review.

**Guest4: **I hope you like this chapter! Thank you for the review! It's always nice to know people enjoy and anticipate my updates. :)

**Guest5: **Oops... I hadn't thought of that... Plot hole? Lol. Thank you for pointing that out, that's actually a really good point. I might end up using it in one of the later chapters. Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Okay, all, my hands are killing me, so I'm going to call it quits for today! I have no idea when I will get the next chapter out, but I will try and start working on it soon. Has anybody here watched The Witcher? What did you all think of it? I started in on it a few weeks ago, having very little idea what it was about. I adore it though. So good! Henry Cavill's portrayal of Geralt is great, I'm so glad that they cut a lot of the dialogue out, it would have ruined it if he was talking all the time. Anyway, till next time, my lovely readers! Happy reading!**

**Winter is coming**

**Maria de Sanctos**


	8. Unbowed Unbent Unbroken

**You read right! This is an update and you didn't have to wait three months to get it. :D The downside is that I had to force this out, so I'm not convinced of the quality, especially the dialogue at the end. I might come back and edit it later. In the meantime, please let me know if it's okay.**

**REMINDER**

**Just a quick reminder, the title of this story will be changing with the next update, it will now be called No Honor in Chains. I have already updated the description, but I will add the original title to the description to hopefully help everyone continue to be able to find it. The rating will be bumped up to 'M' after the next chapter. **

**Thanks for everyone's favorites, follows, and reviews! It's always fun to get a notification for activity on here. Please review! I'm not joking when I say it helps me write faster. If you've already hit the follow button, but you're really enjoying this story, please take a moment to hit the favorite button too! Those stats really make my day! **

**On with the show! Happy reading!**

* * *

**Three days after the Queen's collapse**

Outside of the muted crackle and pop of the fireplace, the shadowy room was silent. Echoing with the soft sounds of slow breaths and the occasional wheeze of a weak pair of lungs. The roaring fireplace and a single candle next to a large bed was the only light. Each let out a warm yellowish glow, fighting for dominance against the deepening shadows of a black night.

The neatly ordered room had been overturned in favor of vials filled with the shape of sludge-like concoctions, pungent herbs, and a plethora of other medical tools. Chairs that had once stood near the flickering fire had been moved in odd arrangement over the large room. All the surfaces were taken over by books and herbs and perhaps the flutter of a white handkerchief.

The single occupant in a bed far too large for her slender figure was bathed in the yellowish light, bringing out the white hue of her skin. An herb packed towel lay against her chest. Her breaths were even, though laced with a shallow respiration at times. Her face was devoid of wrinkles or lines of care. Were it not for the depths of survival written around her, one would believe she was only sleeping.

To her right, a lone figure sat upon a chair at one time within the night. He was now bent over at the waist, his head nestled upon the heavy furs lining the slim body of his lady. A heavy hand laid over her elegant arm, just above the wrist. Narrow fingers twitched against his forehead as his even, deep breaths blew through the room. Tousled auburn curls stretching themselves out as their bearer slept silently.

It started as just a slight twitch. The rustle of a panicked limb weakened too much to move but a little. It continued into the roll of grey eyes as they peeked slightly from under heavy lids. A small movement of numb legs and soon grey eyes rolled open. They stared in confusion at heavy wooden beams that crisscrossed a high ceiling.

Shifting her aching body, Miriel's hand twitched against the rough feel of heavy curls once more. With the slightest tip of a bony finger, she traced the little ringlet. A whisper of a heavy name pronounced itself in her weary head. Hesitance took hold before massive will power pushed her head to the right.

Her eyes alighted on two things at once. The bent head of her husband, nested against her hand. Even in sleep, his heavy face was lined with cares and grief. Beyond, blurring against his back, the lady could just make out the small statue of the Mother that perched upon her table. Around her carved shoulders and head lay a black shawl of sheer shimmer. A single drop of water dripped from the corner of her eye causing a quick subconscious blink.

Shifting her eyes to Robb's slumbering form again, she eyed it for a long moment. Her eyes shifted from a numb stare, their depths contracted and narrowed quickly. Drifting from the lines of his forehead to the closed lids of his eyes, and downward to the slope of his nose and the stern line of his mouth. With a soft touch, she shifted her hand upward and parted the thin curls away, shaking his hand off as she did so.

Her face contorted and contracted as she gazed upon him. Eyebrows furrowed and her forehead scrunching. Fire flickered in those blazing eyes as they turned hard, tears lining over black eyelashes. Grief set about reminding her of all she had lost and sacrificed. A brief longing of home entered within her wrecked mind, of roaring fires and the embrace of a loving father.

The rustle of restricting wool and the stilted sound of a soft crack sharpened the lady's gaze. Robb's head poked up as he straitened his spine, gazing first at the overturned hand in direct view of his eyes. His gaze swept upward, over the slender wrist, the white forearm, eyeing the heavy strands of white, and finally alighting on the stern grey eyes. Raising himself very slowly, his eyes filled with wonder and relief at the clear depth of his wife's own that met him in return. The awe not failing even as the fire rose higher in her own.

Without warning, he drifted from the hardback of the chair and perched upon the edge of the bed. Taking her hand in both of his own, he caressed it without breaking the stare in her eyes.

"Miriel?" he breathed, not expecting a response nor receiving one. Yet within those depths was some level of familiarity. The fire lessened and was replaced with the wide-eyed stare of a wounded doe.

A hesitant hand reached forward, settling gently against an empty womb. Robb stared at the emptiness, an emptiness bemoaning the life it once carried. Even in her haggard appearance, Robb believed she would have been beautiful carrying his child. Glancing at her pained face, he reaches for her with a shaking hand. Penance and shame carry themselves into his palm as it cradles the sharp line of a jaw bone.

"I'm sorry," he confesses, repentant in so many words. Both hands were still and even against a hollow body.

Miriel went still as her eyes screwed up in pain. Tears dripping from wet corners and rolling down her pale face. Her mouth opened, but no sound came from it. In abject horror, Robb jumped to his feet, pausing but a moment before running from their bedchambers. His pounding footsteps could be heard making bounding leaps down the hallway towards the Maester's haunt.

In his absence, Robb did not see the sternness lining the gentle face. Nor the tears that scalded like fire. As she shifted, pulling herself upwards and leaning against the smooth wood behind her, she scrubbed the tears away quickly, cursing their constant presence. She quickly held herself to an unspoken promise, no tears, no weakness, she would remain unbroken.

Taking the peaceful minutes, Miriel gazed about her, taking in the cluttered mess in the normally sterile room. The bottles and herbs sitting on her dressing table were a familiar sight, reminiscent of a long siege almost sixteen months ago. Scattered furs piled on the floor did not seem odd as the Winter closed in about them harder. The neatly folded letters laying over her blanketed legs did seem out of place.

She did not touch them, as though they were cursed. Lifting her chin she gazed down at them, sniffing slightly. She curled a leg up, causing the paper to rustle and fall to the side. She knew the scratchy script contained there, she remembered the gentle teasing of her infuriating brother. Or even the frustrated sighs of her lord father. Try as she might, it never occurred to her that decorative writing was necessary, least of all in dire situations.

The flurry of footsteps and rustling fabric hurrying down the long hallway was an abrupt ending to a few moments of peace. Shifting her shoulders higher and scrubbing away drying tears, she stared straight ahead, ready to meet whatever inquiry came her way. So when the door flew open and a flash of red caught the corner of her eye, she had prepared a warm smile, though it quickly turned from fake to pleasant in a moment's notice.

"Miriel!" came her good mother's cheerful shout. With her skirts in hand like a young girl, the elder lady took quick light steps to her daughter's side.

"Lady Catelyn," was the girl's shallow response, with a subtle dip of her head and an easy, exhausted smile. Unable to meet the clear blue depths as Robb's gentle mother reached forward and caressed her face softly, Miriel closed her eyes. In quiet, quick breaths, she took in the feel of Catelyn's rough palm framing her face. Her pale gray eyes flew open as Catelyn's aged fingers gently caressed her hollow cheek.

"When I saw Robb running past, I feared the worst," the elder lady confessed, a bright smile gracing lines and wrinkles. "Yet here you are in good spirits and smiles! How do you feel?"

"Better than I have," Miriel confided, her voice dropping slightly. With a conspiratorial look, she glanced at the ominous door before leaning closer to her good mother. "Do you think the Maester would let me eat something?"

Catelyn gazed at the girl in wide-eyed shock, taking in the hopeful features in slow grace. A sense of relief hit her as her shoulders relaxed and the heavy stress of her face seemed to morph to the permanent lines and wrinkles it was well shaped with.

"I'm sure he will only be too glad to do so, my dear girl," was her even response, the relief a poignant reminder as the hand dropped from the cheek that was much too hollow for the young girl. "And is there anything you'd want to sample in particular?"

With an outward stretch of her arms, Miriel took a moment to stare at the ceiling above her with the dreamy eye of a young girl looking for a romantic adventure.

"Mmm," she expressed, closing her eyes to envision some earthly delight. "What I'm really craving right now," she paused, thinking a moment. "Is warm bread. Freshly baked from the oven, steaming in all its glory and covered in glorious helpings of apple butter."

A long sigh escaped her lips as Catelyn's silvery laugh echoed through the entangled room. A single rocking knock resounded against the beams of rotting wood.

"My queen?" came the muffled, aged voice from the other side of the door, before it creaked open very slowly. The small wizened man revealed stared a moment in wonder, gazing upon the pale-skinned, disheveled girl seated upright. He quickly overcame his astonishment and ventured further into the warm room. Catelyn smiled briefly at the queen before rising to her feet.

"I'll see what can be done about that bread," she intoned sweetly, giving her good daughter a wan smile, which was returned by a dry pull of cracked lips.

Miriel leaned back in her pile of furs and allowed herself to be examined by the good Maester in privacy, thankful by the no doubt enforced absence of her missing husband.

When Robb finally returned later that night, he was greeted by his wife's steady breaths of a restful sleep. For the first time in several days, he stretched out beside her, resting a heavy hand against her abdomen as he curled closer to her. The creeping drafts of Winter snuck through their chambers, but in sleep, they remained unbowed to its burden.

* * *

Through the circumstances of work that had been put off too long, Robb was unable to spend more than a few minutes in the presence of his recovering wife. Each day, he heard of her making leaps and bounds towards a full return to health. Indeed, it was surprising to all within the dim castle that the lady was making such swift progress.

For a matter of a few hours, Lady Catelyn was finally able to free her son from his duties by the use of masterful deceit. She was aided and abetted by her children and the Maester, who all had great fun in tricking Robb's council. Though alas, Lord Kartstark's missing Lannister dagger was never located and remained a general mystery of the servants for some time.

With his duties thus halted, Robb rushed to his chambers. His footsteps were quick, but he was sure to appear unhurried. Taking his time to note the doings of the servants, perhaps point out something he desired to be done. He passed Sansa with a bright smile, stopping to kiss her cheek and inquire after her health. Sansa purposely gave him a quick answer, pushing past him with a teasing smile.

Rickon passed next, running by without stopping or acknowledging his brother. His wolf was on his heels and he had something tucked under his arm. Robb yelled out a brief warning to keep his wolf on a tether in the castle, else their mother tan his hide. Knowing his mother, Robb would not be surprised if the wolf was kept from the castle for a few weeks in retaliation.

His journey ended in front of a weathered and stained wooden door. Taking a deep breath, he paused a moment and stared, scrutinizing the tests of time. A gouge here where he and Jon were playfully swiping training swords at each other. A dent where he had punched the wood in frustration. A small smudge of blood that was never removed where he had bled against it from a training accident. It held the history of twenty-one years and beyond.

Stealing his breath, he pushed open the heavy door and gazed intently at the apparition that met his eyes.

Miriel had been removed from their bed and sat very quietly and stilly on a wooden chair in front of a bright window. She was wrapped in furs but dressed in a soft gray gown, the long sleeves drooping and hiding her hands. A book had been discarded with care near where her feet should have been if the furs hadn't hid them from view. The remnants of an afternoon meal of broth and fruit were laying on her dressing table.

It was peaceful and warm, with the brightness of the Winter sun streaming in without restraint. Miriel looked like a spirit to his eyes, a ghostly apparition of another world. Her pallor was pale, but no longer grey. A muted red flush speckled over her cheeks in an uneven pattern and her shoulders were held back with a surge of stubborn tenacity.

Her eyes didn't observe him when the door opened, instead, remained upon the daily scene being enacted outside the fashioned glass window panes. But in the tender seconds after his entrance, he observed the minute changes in her demeanor. A rigid set to her spine created a fine line between the rest of her flesh, and a furrow appeared between her expressive brows. Her arms tensed with her hands fisting in the warm fuzz of a wolf pelt, the slender fingers moved in a silent rhythm as they curled back and forth.

Staring but a few minutes, Robb approached softly, his footsteps making only a small creaking sound in the echoing room. With his approach, her eyes flickered suddenly from the window. Tilting her head towards the door, she didn't meet his eyes, rather staring straight ahead or fluttering her eyes down at her empty hands. Robb wondered what she saw in the empty wall facing her, or whether it wasn't some memory being played out in a dusky transformation.

"Miriel?" he breathed, watching a ripple shift through her tense shoulders. Shifting her head to him with a precise and measured motion, the eyes that met his were empty and cold. It sent a shiver through Robb in the sunny room; kissed by the fire from the sun. In the distance, he could just make out the coming darkness; snow clouds.

He hesitated in her silence, holding her stormy gaze but a moment. The grey sparked and crackled within her stern face, a quiet warning resounding in her pursed lips and furrowed brows. Ultimately, her fire tamed the wolf.

Robb's face dropped. His eyes picked up on the repairs needed in the sharp planked floor. He wondered which of his many ancestors had the rotten planks replaced last. Who had called for pines from the Wolfswood to be cut and sawed with care, before becoming a piece in a rapidly confusing puzzle? The splinters and jagged edges were soon becoming a mining ground for injuries of all sorts.

"You look well," he stated lamely, lifting his gaze with a hint of steeled determination lined in sky-colored eyes. A lite tilt of one corner of her mouth was all the reply Robb received before her head turned again to the window. The silence resounding in tense echoes curling around the empty room.

Frustrated by her lack of comment or reply, Robb took steady footsteps closer to her. A pinch to his eyes belying a hint of impatience as he dropped to his knees next to her chair. A clench to her sculpted jaw the only hint that she gave to his presence. With a hand that was soft, but unbendable, he slid it under her chin and forced her eyes back towards him. Her intense gaze a reminder of something that he had to take up with her.

Letting hesitant fingers drop slowly from her face, lingering long enough to stroke the underside of her jaw, Robb's eyes drifted downwards slightly.

"You were right," he whispered soundlessly, a hint of water lingering in his eyes as he raised them to meet her own. There was nothing soft in her face when realization set in. All hard lines and furrows lining from her jaw to her forehead. Robb swallowed uneasily, this wasn't diplomacy or war, such things were easy to handle. Oftentimes, it was never personal.

"I lost my honor the day I turned my back on you and our son, I-"

"Damn the child!" Miriel screamed, shifting to her feet in a flurry of action. The sharpness of her movement sent several bottles and mementos flying to the floor as she leaned into the nearby table to regain her balance. In the shuffle, Robb blindly reached for her but retracted as if he'd been slapped when she moved from his reach. A distance of several feet lay between them. He shifted, standing slowly and staring wide-eyed like a child.

Miriel stood on unsteady feet, hands folded in front of her as her shoulders were pulled back and her spine straightened. Her eyes were steadily staring at nothing through the streaming windows. The sunlight was rapidly dimming as dark storm clouds drifted closer. Her sharp ears could pick up on the muted sound of her husband rising from the position of a penitent

"Fuck your honor and humility, Robb Stark," she intoned, turning to face shimmery blue eyes that crinkled in confusion and bemusement. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

At his confused, panicked stare, she continued, a bitter tinge coating words spoken in the softest of voices.

"You know," she dropped her head to hide an upturned crease to her pale lips. "I've spent the last year torturing myself." Her gaze lifted, the anger palpable not only in her eyes but in the feel of the room. "Wondering what I could have done to win your approval, bearing guilt that wasn't mine bear.

"History would remember this as nothing more than the biggest misunderstanding between two people that ever graced its pages." She paused, nothing changing in her stance or expression. "If it wasn't for one thing."

She paused, tilting her chin upwards and taking a measured step forward.

"Your son wasn't the only casualty of your mistakes," she replied, stilling her movement in the dead silent room, interrupted only by the crack of her voice and Robb's hitching breathes. "Many deaths could have been avoided had you read my letters as your duty demanded."

The silence stretched on unbearably, swallowing those who stood within its empty depths. Robb's jaw clenched even as he swallowed with difficulty.

"Miriel-" he started, his voice stern with no real determination behind it. His queen quickly interrupted him, a note of judgment being passed in her tone.

"You are unworthy of the crown that graces your head, unworthy of the loyalty of the people you abandoned, and cowardly in the eyes of the gods; old and new. And I am ashamed," she breathed, her face contorting to a snarl as she spat out damning words. "To be bound to you."

Neither moved, the silence following in lieu of such harsh words was not peaceful, but neither was it tense. A welcome reprieve as both Robb and Miriel shared an exchange of stares. There was a sharpness in Robb's expressive Tully face even as shame and anger warred with each other. An increase in his breath as perhaps one emotion ruled out the other.

"Miriel-" once again his soft tone was interrupted.

"Leave me," she voiced, turning from Robb's pleading eyes. The sun had dropped behind the clouds at last. Already the rush of wind blew through the minuscule cracks in the blackened stone as the threat of snow deepened.

Watching it progress, Miriel strained her ears waiting for Robb to take his leave. The creak of the door echoed as he resumed his defeated stride. The ancient door crashed shut in a brief moment of finality. In an attempt to ignore the choking heaviness, she sank back into her fur covered chair, taking a moment to pull the unruly pelts this way and that. A solitary tear leaked out in her frustration.

This one single tear was all she allowed. She would not break, she would not bend, and she would remain unbowed in the face of her judgment. She sat boldly with her back held straight and her chin up. Perhaps she looked like the queen many believed her to be, the queen without a crown.

* * *

**EEP! That went well! I did promise y'all that there would be a confrontation. ;) And this is only the beginning of it! Let me know what you thought!**

**I've been having the sneaking suspicion that I've been doing a terrible job writing Robb's character. Upon rereading several chapters, I feel like he's really out of character. Profuse apologies for that, I'm still trying to figure out how to fix it. I also had the realization that I was failing to use other characters, the Stark children kind of got lost in my rush to get these chapters out. I'm trying to slowly reintroduce them as some of them are going to get really important down the road. **

**I feel happy at the place we're at in the story right now. In a few more chapters, I won't be focusing as much on Robb and Miriel's tumultuous relationship. Don't worry, there will still be plenty of angst with these two, but we will be moving on to the more overarching or political end of the story. The timeline will switch around a bit as you'll get to see how this whole disaster of a marriage started amongst other things. I'm really excited to show you guys what I have planned for the future!**

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**kmhappybunny240**: That pretty much sums it up! Unfortunately, when you're king, it's kind of hard for people to ignore you. Catelyn ain't gonna be happy at him after this though. Well, she certainly told him to f off. :) Whether she owns her role as being queen, well, you'll just have to keep reading. ;) I'm glad you liked Jon as the narrator! I was unsure about it and not going to lie, it was tough to write, but it's a nice change of pace. We'll be seeing narrations from a lot of different characters hopefully from now on! Always a joy hearing from you! I hope you like this chapter! Cheers!

**kankananime123**: Does metaphorical slap work? Cause dat boy got an earful. See, the interesting thing here is that she doesn't care anymore. She's not going to make him beg because she isn't interested in trying anymore. EEP. Uhhhh. You know, I haven't given Jon's storyline much thought. He remains at the Wall for the time being. We'll come back to him later as the story starts to progress, hopefully, I'll have a good excuse for why he stayed after they killed him. That's an interesting idea! I actually did some daydreaming the other day about a chapter from Catelyn's viewpoint, so that could be in the works. Sansa is about to get a whole lot more important in the story, so we might have the opportunity to have a chapter from her at some point. Things definitely went boom in this chapter. The plot twist may not be obvious, but everyone seemed to think that Miriel would forgive him after she slapped some sense in him. I'll leave it at that. ;) HAHAHAHA You're heart's going to go through a lot before this is over. Hope you like this chapter!

**FanfavBBC**: Long time no see! I'm glad you're back! I always really enjoy getting reviews from you. :) Thank you so much! I love this work a lot. It's special to me and it's given me a chance to explore some new writing techniques and plot ideas. And who wouldn't love to play with the world of Game of Thrones? I hope you enjoy this chapter, though it does seem a bit off.

**Miss Luny**: Thank you for your review! I always love to hear from my readers! I'm glad you liked it, half the time I'm writing I'm staring at the screen with a stony look while writing grief and heartbreak. It never seems as heartbreaking and touching as I try to make it. So hearing from my readers that it touched them really makes me feel better. I hope you like this chapter! Hopefully, see you next time!

**The Jingo**: Thank you for the advice! I actually spent a couple hours trying to make your idea work out, but in the end, it just didn't work. While you don't see Ciroth being talked about a whole lot in any of the current chapters, the importance of it being a separate country makes more sense later on. Also, while I haven't gotten to the part in the books or the show where Catelyn talks to her sister but didn't Lysa stay out of the war? Refusing to help Robb? It would make it downright treasonous for one of her lords to not only help Robb fight the war but solidify that agreement by marrying his only daughter to Robb. Ciroth was once a part of the Vale and is located in the Northern end of the Vale's territory. So technically you could say that Miriel's father is a Vale lord. ;) I hope you'll give this story a chance to prove itself even with an OC kingdom. I know how annoying they can be, so I totally understand your suggestion. Thank you so much for the constructive criticism, I really love hearing my readers opinions and thoughts! Oftentimes, they bring up points that I would never have thought of.

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**It's probably going to be a while before I get the next chapter out. My interest and inspiration in this story unfortunately ebbs and flows like a tide. One thing I've learned about it, never write when I'm not inspired. Keep your eyes out though, maybe we'll all be surprised by a new chapter soon!**

**Anyone here watch Peaky Blinders? I just recently binge-watched the show and now have several ideas running through my head for a story. Since I can't find any good ones to read, guess I'll have to write my own, right? If you're a fan, keep an eye out, I might post something about it soon. **

**Happy reading and leave a review!**

**Winter is Coming**

**Maria de Sanctos**


	9. The Bite of Winter

**Hey guys! What's up? So fun fact. I lost my job at the end of January. Our stupid owner decided that he was going to shut the store down because of slow sales and only gave us a five-day warning. My manager found out on Monday morning and by Friday, we were closed. So I had to scramble for a new job. Thankfully a friend found me something that I could start immediately. So I was working again the following Monday. **

**It's been a pain having to learn a new job though, especially because most of my coworkers are complete asses and really like to be condescending to newbies. I also have to work six days a week and a lot of split shifts where I can't drive home between shifts because I'd just have to turn around and go back by the time I get home. I'm about done with this place though and ready to move onto another job that will require a longer commute. **

**So due to the crazy circumstances in my life, updates could be pretty few and far between for the rest of the Spring/Summer. Granted, if everything gets shut down due to the coronavirus, maybe it will be sooner. I haven't given up on this story though, so rest assured. It will get finished at some point in the future, just keep your eyes peeled.**

**As you can see, I updated the title. Next week I will update the rating to 'M' before publishing the next chapter, so please be aware of this guest readers. It may be a little harder to find this story. **

**As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed! You guys are awesome and I love you all! You're really helping me have better confidence in my writing. And thank you to everyone who is keeping an eye on this story, because of you, we're almost up to 15k views! **

**Please leave a review with your thoughts on this chapter and let me know what you think is going to happen next. ;)**

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**Two weeks later**

The winding passage echoed softly, Jon's letter weighing heavily in his hand. Robb was bent with a thousand cares and problems lying in wait for his time. Jon's letter, rebuilding the North, Renly's concerns, the council's hints of an heir, his queen's open hostilities. They all blindsided him at once, growing and coursing through his veins, leading to not even a moment's respite as he opened his study door to reveal the nervous flutter of his mother.

"Did the council send you, or did you come on your own?" he inquired, firmly shutting and locking the door behind him. One look into her wide eyes was all he needed to know where this conversation was going. It was a continuation of a battle with his council this morning. One that he would much rather admit had never happened. The embarrassment of your own council knowing the state of your marriage bed was mortifying enough without your mother having to intervene.

"Maester Harwick expressed his concerns to me," she answered simply, eyes narrowing on the generous glass of wine her son now carried in his hand. His gaze remained firmly away from her piercing eyes, as he stared intently out the ornate stained windows. The night was black, not even the stars peeked through the dusk. The wind continued to blow in from the North, the whispers of a name and the smell of death coming with it.

"His concerns are unfounded. The happenings of my marriage bed are between my wife and myself." The word 'wife' clung with a tinge of bitterness in his mouth. Was she his wife anymore? Robb had hoped with the damning pronouncement she uttered short weeks ago; whatever fall out occurred between them would be private. His hopes became unfounded after her first pointed comment of his infidelity in the presence of many of his bannermen.

"His concerns are quite founded, Robb, considering you haven't fathered a son yet," Catelyn replied forcefully, her eyes gripping onto his flinch as he settled into the worn chair behind what was once his father's desk. Littered as usual with stacks of correspondence and reports, Jon's missive now at the top of the pile.

"Gods, Robb, you haven't bedded her since you married her," she breathed, the lines of her face a confession of understanding. The loud crash of a heavy hand against the carved wooden surface broke the concentration drifting through her tense stature. With his resounding action, he stepped back to his feet and leaned over the desk. The Stark features that were normally so dim came out in a fury now.

"I don't want to hear another word about bedding her!" he exclaimed, tone low, but voice loud. His eyes contained a steely glint that came from his father, along with a well-built stature that rose up in anger. Robb had made the same mistakes that his father had, but Miriel was not Catelyn, there was something hard in the girl. Something quite different from her good mother's own demeanor. Where Catelyn had learned to live with her husband, Miriel sought to punish hers.

Drifting around the wooden obstruction, she wrapped a slender hand around his arm, curling it protectively as though he were a small child again and needed comfort from some harsh reality he learned too young. His gaze remained focused on something ahead of him, her presence ignored in favor of something untroubled and unresponsive.

"Robb," she intoned heavily, a hint of steel lilting through, demanding her son's undivided attention. His head bowed before lifting slowly and staring into his mother's clear eyes, eyes that reflected his own. Her brows raised in confirmation as she placed her other hand against his cheek, letting the stiff bristles of hair rub in comfort against her palm.

"You have a duty, Robb. You are king, you sold the right to do as you please when you let them put a crown on your head. Miriel knows this, she will do her duty," Catelyn explained, attempting to lighten the sad plain of her son's face. The sharpness of the North was beginning to dull the softness of his Tully heritage.

"Duty is not always pleasurable, my son, but neither does it need to be a chore. Sometimes the physical union between a man and his wife brings about a deeper bond." Robb sighed, slumping back into the chair and rubbing a worn hand over his face. The corners of his eyes twitched, lining them with delicate wrinkles and furrows. He regarded the irony in the fact that many men of his age would jump at the chance to bed a pretty woman such as his wife.

His hands drifted over some of the many letters and appeals scattered over his desk, scattering them further. Taking a moment, he lifted up a sealed scroll he had not seen earlier. The Baratheon stag stared up at him in foreboding silence. Moving to rip the seal in haste, Catelyn's wrinkled hand grasped his fingers, stopping their insistent progress.

"Robb," she scolded heavily, causing yet another sigh and further scrubbing against his face with callused hands. "Leave the correspondence for tonight and bed your wife. She is fertile and by the will of the gods, your seed will take. The North needs an heir."

He didn't look at her, a bright red flush taking over his pale, windburned cheeks. A glint in those pale eyes flashed and burned behind careful movement. He bowed his head in acquiescence to her demand, letting the weighty responsibility of his new task settle around his shoulders, sloping them like the little drifts of snow gathering in the courtyard outside.

Leaning into him, Catelyn placed a soft kiss against her son's rough cheek, smiling widely.

"Cheer up, it won't always be this difficult," she whispered before pulling away and drifting across his study, her hand deftly unlocking the door. Pausing a moment. Her form was still and silent as Robb stared after her, watching her eyes narrow and expand. In the space of a short moment, she continued out of his sight, leaving him conflicted and terrified.

Drifting out of his chair again, he paused before the carved glass window. High above the courtyard it sat, overseeing the stables and the cobbled courtyard. Little flurries of snow sluggishly fell, adding to the mounting piles lining little monuments. Already it was piling up at an astounding and concerning rate.

The furrow in Robb's brow deepened upon certain phrases that repeated themselves in his head. Phrases that Jon so carefully crafted in his Stark terseness. Already the Wall was obstructed by howling blizzards and mountainous snow piles. Rangers sent beyond the Wall had not returned by their appointed times. The Wildlings remaining by the Wall were speaking of voices on the wind. The stench of death and decay began to creep closer, and the sun no longer rose and fell.

Amidst all these claims and concerns lay the chief of Robb's worries now. The council's call for an heir. And it was amidst these concerns that Robb understood theirs. If war with the God of Death and his White Walkers came, what future would the North have if his line died with him? Rickon would be next in line as Bran was still missing and could no longer father a son. But Rickon was a child, and the South could exert a claim over them if he did not have a legitimate heir.

And so it came back to Miriel yet again. She had become the anomaly in his plans. A piece that refused to work or be bent in her iron will. If the Starks were thought to be stubborn, perhaps it could be said that the Ciroths were known for their iron wills and cunning. Traits that made them valuable allies. The strategic circumstances of their alliance and the honor of his Stark father made it impossible for him to divorce her or make the mistake of unfaithfulness again.

He mused on the standstill they had reached, gazing out that darkened window at the fluttering of torches fighting against the fierce winds that whistled through his walls. The duration of the sun was getting shorter and shorter, leaving black nights to take its place. Travel would become difficult before long, making him wonder what Renly's letter could contain.

The call for the evening meal refrained him from opening the curious scroll. As his mother had told him, perhaps it could wait for the morn. There were other more pressing concerns to be addressed in the night.

* * *

The noise within the hall seemed muted in comparison to the normal raucous laughter and chattering it was filled with. Robb paused but a moment to consider the dim noise from within, the rumors had started to spread. The long Winter was sinking in and there was no escape. But this was House Stark, and they would endure. What was it his father said? "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

With a gentle nod to the doorkeeper, the heavy swinging doors were pulled back and the king entered. A hush fell as the royal family arose. His eyes swung to the lady seated on the right of the king's seat, her movements were slow and sluggish, a play on the formalities due to her lord and master. A little smile tugged at the corner of her lips, the strain reaching her eyes, coloring them with a tinge of icy coldness.

Robb did not let this touch of ice change his expression externally, but internally it caught his heart and squeezed. Dread lined his thoughts when he thought of what was to come. A brief thought entered as he wondered if maybe he could feign the need to work late into the night as he had been wont to do lately.

Catelyn's heavy stare, demanding his acknowledgment, quickly nixed that idea as she challenged him with a tilt of her head in the direction of his silver-haired wife. Running wasn't an option.

A general rush and clatter of somber feet stood at attention as every soul within the brightly lit hall had rushed to their feet. Their faces were composed and respectful as they bowed their heads to their king when he walked past them. The hush that followed enhanced the anxiety rushing through Robb's heart.

When he, at last, reached the dais, he took a chance and leaned closer to his lady wife. Brushing cold lips against her cheek, he was surprised that she did not lean away. He wondered briefly if she was shocked by his forwardness. Upon leaning back though, the sound of feet returning to their reclined position drifted away; sitting upon her face was a coy smile and a slight sharpness lengthening her eyes.

In horror, Robb realized that his meddling mother must surely have had the same conversation with his wife as she had with him mere moments ago. Perhaps this should set him at ease, but the stiff formation that his shoulders froze at Miriel's small gesture must have spoken the opposite.

With a smug smile lining her pink lips, she eased back into her chair, back straight, hair falling perfectly down one shoulder, and a glint of gold shining on her forehead. Robb froze a moment before quickly drifting into his own chair, stunned and a little unbalanced. He poured himself a generous mug of ale and snuck quick little glances at her.

Within a few weeks time, the hollows in her cheeks had begun to fill out. Her form was lithe beneath the voluminous materials clinging to her frame. She looked healthy and bright, still thin for a woman of her station perhaps, but in time she would continue to fill out. She looked more at ease amidst the stares and revelry than he did.

To her right, Sansa and Arya were seated. In the middle of all the many tasks assigned to him, Robb had noted that the girls no longer fought with each other. They seemed to keep a peaceful distance built up with much diplomacy and careful trust. In time, Sansa would have to be wed to some loyal bannerman, or perhaps a Southern lord to strengthen his ties with Renly. Little in him liked the idea of his sister in the South again.

His wife and sisters kept their own amusements for the duration of the evening, chattering and laughing in exchanged glances.

To his left, Robb exchanged short conversations with a merchant who Miriel had chosen after the siege of Winterfell. Robb could not deny his wife's excellent decision in her choice. He was a shrewd businessman, a hint shady perhaps, but he delivered on his requests and for a reasonable coin. His travels had taken him to many far corners of the known world, and a few beyond the known world as well. His conversation was riveting.

Robb's enjoyment of the evening's festivities was broken routinely by his mother's pointed glance across him. She was eyeing the queen with a concerned and trained eye. Robb would glance at the object of her stare and find his wife a little full in her cups. Laughing and speaking in a fashion that was not usual of her silent or pointed state. He would wave off the servants to refill her cup, and every time Arya or even Sansa would manage to refill it.

A slight concern tempted him. It seemed strange that his sisters would disobey an unspoken request of his. He considered forcing them to retire for the night. But seeing as they were not creating a scene and were not even the slightest impaired in their mental capacity, he found that impossible in the face of his bannermen. There was already enough embarrassment within his family due to his wife's untimely comments.

"You seem distracted, my lord," came the slight comment from his left. Robb's eyes pivoted from the thoughtful stare he had bestowed on his giggling and red-faced wife.

"Forgive me, Master Ormos. I'm afraid I have much on my mind." The man in question gave a hinted smile, tipping his head towards the apparition in silver.

"And the lovely queen would be occupying much of that," he intoned, taking a generous gulp of ale. If a few drops spilled down the front of his shirt, Robb had the decency not to say anything. In fact, he kept silent at the pointed comment released by his guest. He even smiled slightly at his mother's look of outrage.

"You know, for a royal bitch, she's quite shrewd."

"Master Ormos!" Lady Catelyn exclaimed, a displeased crease to her lips and wrinkles lining her eyes. Robb could not help but remember times when that face came into play after one of Arya's mishaps or when Bran spent the day on the castle rooftops. It brought an ill-timed cough of laughter from him, causing his mother's curt expression to broaden and encompass him as well as their guest. His smile dropped, but he didn't remand his guest. Master Ormos didn't acknowledge Lady Catelyn's displeasure, continuing on with his train of thought.

"She's quite the persuader as well. She must've had me in about three letters, eating out of her hand." Robb's interest piqued at this, he was well aware of his wife's ability to incite loyalty. This was the woman who managed to make Jon, a Stark, turn his back on his duty and honor. Robb wondered if she wasn't the type of woman who could lead a kingdom or even an army.

"I wasn't aware she had to persuade you," Robb replied, curious to see where this conversation was going, if anywhere. Master Ormos seemed quite drunk already.

"Your highness, we merchants never take an offer that doesn't involve a measure of ease and a handsome reward, or sometimes an easy fuck," his crude remarks were easily causing a dismissive tenseness in the king.

"So when a stranded woman, a queen, starts begging you to bring supplies through the Northern wilderness and already has the whole fucking expedition planned out, well, it's rather hard to say no to a face like that," he gestured vaguely in the direction of Miriel, his drunken hand flopping pathetically in the air and nearly hitting Robb in the face.

"She even managed to swindle me out of extra coin, the little bitch," he added haphazardly, a hint of fondness coming in to play. Robb turned and gazed at the woman in question. Something caught her attention and she turned to meet his stare. An exchange of sights and a small smile came out unforced from her tender lips before it vanished with the turn of her head. Leaving Robb a little dazed, only to be pulled out by an insistent and slightly obnoxious high pitch.

"See, it's women like that who are born to rule, your highness. They don't follow, they lead," he responded, a measure of loyalty glazing his eyes as he fixed them on the silver-headed queen. Who, perhaps didn't look much like royalty with her alcohol-induced laughter, yet still, something about her spoke to a deeper part of their humanity. Something that drew you in.

Robb gazed out at his muted people. He remembered the days when his father was Lord of Winterfell, years before Robert Baratheon drug him South to his ultimate demise. The feasting hall was always full and filled with merry laughter. What evil times had befallen upon them. He wondered what his father would do if he had to address the concerns that Robb had to face.

"Robb," came his mother's gentle tones, a hint of warning filling her voice, but only detectable to her children, who were often on the receiving end of strong words after such a tone.

Leaning forward, he could just make out his mother's subtle and slight nod in the direction of his wife. Pivoting his neck, he watched as her wine glass was once again filled to the brim. Uncontrolled giggles and shaking hands only confirmed what he had suspected. Expecting a fight to break out, he only hoped it wouldn't create a scene.

With tense fingers and the softest eyes he could muster, Robb reached in front of his inebriated wife and gently drug her wine glass from her reach, placing it on the other side of him. He kept his eyes down, not ready to meet her frustrated glare. But as he firmly set the glass down, his eyes flickered upward to her own. Fire flung from them in sparks, the corners were pinched and her mouth was flattened to a distraught line.

"I think you've had enough for now," he suggested, frowning at her scoff as she stared down at her lap and unfolded the heavy fabrics of her dress. Rising to her feet a little unsteadily, Sansa reached out a hesitant hand to her elbow, gripping it tightly in fear of her unsteadiness. Miriel waved her away with a slight smile, a sad tinge painting it as she caressed Sansa's pale cheek briefly.

Turning towards her husband, she eyed him briefly, taking in the expressive icy eyes and furrowed lips that spoke layers of displeasure and even anxiety. Sometimes she was unpleasantly reminded how young he was how, how young they both were. Too young to be worrying about the necessity of an heir or the impending onslaught of a long Winter.

"Forgive me for hoping to not remember when you call her name tonight instead of mine," she replied, in answer to a question he had not asked nor wished to know the answer. Her voice came out in a heavy bite, short and terse.

Robb had no answer to her reply, nothing he could say would ever erase the guilt she insisted upon heaping over him. Instead, he watched as Sansa calmly rose from her place at the table and followed his swaying wife. Sansa would not meet his gaze, she simply kept her eyes on the floor until she reached for Miriel's elbow. A calming fellowship allowing it's graceful fingers to bring about a tentative peace to them both.

Turning, he eyed Arya who remained seated, lounging in her chair, unlike the princess everyone insisted on calling her. Her eyes were clear and empty as they stared through his own. Thoughtfully, they summed up his actions and found them wanting. Nothing broke her stare, even as a hint of hostility and disappointment entered it. Robb quickly looked away at the feeling of shame picking up in his mind.

Internally, he was in a state of panic and anxiety. A strong hand around his heart was whispering to him about the unfinished work sitting a few doors down. He could retreat to his office and spend half the night catching up on correspondence. But another night spent on paperwork wouldn't fix the state he'd put himself into.

In response to the corner he had pushed himself into, he reached for the full wine glass he had taken away from his wife. His mother stared in concern as he imbibed a sizeable swallow without flinching. Maybe his wife was onto something.

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**This update is mostly due to a friend/my pseudo therapist who keeps nagging at me to write because having a creative output helps my anxiety. So on my rare day where I didn't have to go to work until later, I decided to sit down and type most of this up. It felt like pulling teeth though. It just takes so much for me to get interested in writing anymore. It's rather sad. Granted, I'm kind of emotionally done too. I had a tough experience with a short term bf that's left me frustrated and annoyed. So I'm flying on emotional exhaustion right now (yay), which kind of makes it hard to write emotional experiences (not yay). Aw well, let me know how this chapter was. It definitely went places I was not expecting it to go. I'm kind of happy with it though. Mostly because I haven't reread it and it's almost 1 am in the morning and I'm too tired to care. lol. **

**Fun fact, up to this point, I literally had no idea what I was doing with Bran, so I just avoided mentioning him altogether. I have no idea what role he's going to play in this story, or if he just disappears completely for the rest of it. At least I finally made a small decision for his character! :D**

**Anywho, please leave a review, they're like candy to me, and I love candy! If you are going to leave criticism though, please leave it constructively and kindly. I'm to the point where the number of fucks I give is about zero and I will tear people apart for being jerks. **

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**kmhappybunny240**: I think Robb has realized it, whether he's going to do anything about it is another story though. He's got a lot of growth to go through, and no one is going to make it easy for him. Least of all his wife or mother, I think Sansa is pretty pissed at him too. Add Arya to that list as well, last-minute edit. :)

**NachoTheDrake**: I remember when I saw your review, I think I squealed in absolute joy and happiness! It's readers like you that make pulling my teeth out to get these chapters written worth it! Thank you so, so much! I understand the difficulties with OC characters. I've spent hours drifting through hundreds of fanfics to find an OC that is decently written. It's not easy, but I have managed to find a few really good OC stories. They're out there, but sadly not in large quantities. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**kankananime123**: Lol, yeah, she hit him hard, didn't she? She's not from Dorne, I just thought Dorne's House words made a really good chapter title. Miriel is from a small country to the North of House Arryn. The importance of this fact will get bigger as we go on and you'll find out more backstory. :D Yeah, about that, doesn't look like they're working through it too well, does it? Lol. It's gonna be rough.

**Guest**: Right? Me too! Snappy Miriel is definitely fun, if not challenging to write. She's definitely had enough of Robb's BS. Robb has his work cut out for him. He's going to have to earn everything that has been handed to him. He's got a lot of growing up to do. Interesting you should bring that up about Jon. I had originally considered working something out between Jon and Miriel but then decided that it wasn't going to work with what I had planned in the future for Miriel. It wouldn't be tragic enough for my tastes. :D Hope you enjoy this chapter and I'm glad you think it's getting good!

**Guest 2**: Ummm. I'm honestly having a hard time figuring out if you thinking he's out of character is a good thing or a bad thing or just a thing thing. lol. He does have a lot of work to do. I don't think the smallfolk will care too much, the general theme of GoT seems to be that the smallfolk don't care much about the political happenings of the world around them, just as long as their world doesn't get too out of order. I do hope I can do the redemption arc justice if he gets that far. ;) I'm glad she didn't forgive him either, that would have made for a very boring and typical story if she did. :D I hope you like this chapter!

**prydain**: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it! And I'm really glad you like my representation of Robb. I didn't realize it till now, but damn is he hard to write! I haven't seen enough of the show to ascertain for certain, but I feel like he didn't get enough time to develop fully as a character. Which makes writing him really hard. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think.

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**We're back to Miriel's viewpoint in the next chapter. It was kind of fun writing from Robb's rather exhausted state of mind in this one. Kind of mirrors my own feelings right now. **

**If you guys are interested, I have a Pinterest board dedicated to ideas for this story. I have a few pictures on there that represent how I view Miriel. I'll just leave a link here:** pinterest/desanctos/game-of-thrones-fanfiction-other/

**Add . c o m after pinterest and remove the spaces. Hopefully, that will work!**

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**Happy reading guys and until next time!**

**Winter is Coming**

**Maria de Sanctos**


	10. The Cry of the Wolf

**Hey guys! I just got called into work, but I wanted to get this posted before I get sucked into the whirlwind. :D As such, I don't have time to write much of an author's note or reply to all the awesome reviews I got. I will try and edit it tonight with replies. There may be some typos and poor word choices as well, please kindly let me know if you run into any, again, will try to edit tonight.**

**TRIGGER WARNING**

**A huge trigger warning to everyone, there is a rape sequence between the horizontal lines, if that triggers you, please skip the section between the lines. I ended up being a little more descriptive then I meant to be, but I am satisfied with how it turned out. Not gonna lie though, it's pretty horrifying. Please don't hate me or any of my characters. The rating has been updated to 'M' as well. **

**END OF TRIGGER WARNING**

**Thanks to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed recently! Love you all tons! I am a little concerned about the number of followers I have in comparison to the number of reviewers though. If you guys could even just leave me a couple words to let me know you're enjoying it, I would feel a little better, especially after this bombshell. **

**Anyway, thanks all! And I will try to get back on tonight to do some editing with this chapter and a couple others, noticed some inconsistencies... **

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**The next day**

The day started like any other, Lady Catelyn arose early in the morning, dressed neatly, and began the long walk through the castle. She passed servants attending their duties in the early morning, preparing for the long day of work ahead. She briefly stopped and spoke with Maester Harwick, he was busy at work removing scrolls from the library and to his study with the help of the servants. In his spare time, he enjoyed transcribing the old scrolls to new parchment.

Moving on her way from the Maester, Lady Catelyn consulted the chief of staff, ensuring the council room was aired and cleaned for the morning's meeting. It was the chief's offhand comment about not yet having seen the queen that reminded Catelyn of the screams she had heard in the night. Dismissing them as the echoes of dreams, she had a much harder time dismissing the obvious disappearance of her good daughter.

Catelyn knew Miriel to be a creature of habit, the queen arose long before her and her first order of business was to speak with the head servant. With a concerned eye and a tense stance, she brushed off the concerns of the head servant and informed him she would speak with the queen at the morning meal and pass along Miriel's requests for the day.

Passing along her way from there, the older woman strode her way to the feasting hall, where every morning she was present with her children. Warm pleasing smiles met her path and Sansa's auburn hair swished alongside her unexpectedly; dropping a kiss on her wrinkled cheek.

Catelyn told herself not to worry about the good queen, she was probably just tired from the long night, and Robb would confirm her knowledge momentarily. But a little part inside of her warned something was not right, and those screams still haunted her. So when she entered the hall and both her son and his wife were missing from its cheery warmth, a fist of dread grasped her, and the memory of the state they both left in the night before.

Catelyn always knew there was something harsh and domineering in her firstborn, hidden well by court manners and tousled red curls. He always took after her more than his father, or so it was thought. But a mother can always see through her children. There was something more than Stark or Tully in him, there was something from the cold, cruel North that had seeped into his bones, even as a child. It was the cry of the wolf.

Gazing over every nook and cranny in the large room, she beheld her son's bannermen and their families, a few of Miriel's silver-haired guards, and some of the queen's ladies. The quiet murmur of voices was a welcome relief to the raucous noise from the nightly feasts. Candles lit from heavy rings of steel swayed overhead; the dim light from the cloud covered sky without did little to light up the heavy corners of the flying columns.

Seating herself steadily and attempting to limit the attention drawn to herself, Catelyn leaned over quickly and briefly questioned Sansa.

"Have you seen Robb yet this morning?" she intoned, Sansa drew back and gazed at her mother's intent face. Mistaking the tension for excitement and good cheer, she paused a moment to take a small gulp of her spiced milk, stalling as she attempted to clear the annoyance in her countenance. Poor Miriel, she decided.

Turning back to her mother, she opened her mouth to respond, yet something kept her from saying the words she so longed to spit out. She closed her mouth once more, her eyes narrowing at the concerned crease to her mother's face.

In her daughter's hesitance, Catelyn's eyes drifted to a streaming figure flying out from the servant's entrance. She watched the terrified face with the long brown hair floating out behind the girl and the silvery blue dress whipping behind her; the silver-blue of Ciroth.

Catelyn's piercing, worried eyes watched as the lithe girl rushed silently toward the table in the shadows where Miriel's court from Ciroth would gather every morning, two or three of her servants and the assassins she kept in her guard. The girl approached another of the women, everyone at the table leaned in to listen.

Within minutes, controlled chaos erupted from the dark corner. The messenger left with one of the women. The third one calmly walked out the main door with nervous energy sparking from her. As soon as the doors were closing behind her, she started running in the general direction of the Maester's rooms.

It was the dispersal of the assassins that concerned Catelyn the most. She had seen the girls scatter in a flurry before, but never the men. Several followed the two servant girls who left through the servant's door. A majority of them scattered into the background, where Catelyn knew they would disperse and investigate whatever had them worried. The last slipped into the shadows and left through the main door, cloak whipping around behind him, a steely glint of fire flashing through his eyes.

Though she hadn't seen them in action, Catelyn knew from her daughter's stories that the Cirotothian assassins were lethal and deadly loyal to their lady. She had never seen Miriel's entire court be summoned for any purpose though. They may have resided in Winterfell and been under Robb's control, but it was clear where their loyalty and concern resided.

Wasting no time, she folded her copious skirts around her hand and rose from her chair. With no thought to the stunned glances from her son's bannermen and her children, Catelyn took quick, running steps down the center of the hall and towards her son's study. Hurried prayers to the gods filled her mind, prayers that Robb would not be behind that damned desk when she entered.

Bursting through the doors, she ran past stunned servants and ladies calling after her. Her skirts whipped behind her and her breath raced, her eyes intently focused on the path in front of her. A forked hallway caused her to stop and consider her end goal. One led to her Robb's chambers and the other led to his study.

Biting her lip in thought, Catelyn hesitantly stepped down the path to her son's chambers. She stopped though, breathing in quickly, before turning around and going down the other hallway.

Her footsteps slowed as she began to ponder where this had gone wrong. The wrinkles in her face contorted as she began to wonder what sort of injury Miriel had sustained this time. What more was her son going to do to his poor wife?

Hesitating at the door she had entered less than half a day before, her mind raced to answers she did not wish to find. With a deep breath and load of tense muscles holding her shoulders up, Catelyn opened the door and was immediately met with a sight that broke her faltering heart. Her son was bent over his desk, listless as his tousled head rested in a bed of papers.

"Robb," his mother intoned, her voice rising in agitation and annoyance, the icy hand of fear still gripping it. She took a few steps, her posture fallen and riddled with dejection. In her eyes was the judgment of a mother, finding the actions of her son wanting.

"Robb!" she shouted, slamming her hand upon his desk, sending papers flying and the jerk of a curly head.

"Mother?" he murmured, still drunk with the visage of sleep. Slowly, he raised himself off the cluttered surface, crumpling papers as he went, face screwed in pain from a stiff back and a raging headache.

"Did you sleep here last night?" her impatience for an answer made her immune to the tender feelings of a mother. She didn't reach out in love when she shook him violently, shaking off the last holds of sleepy thoughts.

"What?" answered Robb, confusion drawing his face into screwed up lines, his eyes held a hint of fear that was mirrored by her own.

In desperation, Catelyn gripped her son's arm in bruising strength.

"Tell me those screams weren't Miriel's, tell me you didn't bed her, Robb," twin gazes met in a herald of confusion and desperation. Robb opened his mouth to reply when the door flew open on protesting hinges. A quiet voice filled the air in steely resolve and anger.

"Did you hurt her?" a silver rope of hair drifted back and forth as the black-robed assassin approached mother and child. Robb stared in dismay, bemused and annoyed. Catelyn drifted back, sensing her presence temporarily being ignored.

"May I remind you, Thalion," Robb replied, rising to his feet with every bit of kingly demeanor he could muster and continued with his hands braced against the desk. "That you answer to me."

But the glistening stare that spoke in reply was not cowed to silence or respect. It just as quickly fired back an answer.

"If necessary," Thalion paused, pronouncing each word with an aura of quiet threat. "I will answer to Lord Ciroth as to the state of his daughter's marriage"

Robb's brows drew together, his eyes staring in abject horror. A slight shift to his posture revealed the slightest twinge of discomfort and terror. Catelyn held onto that brief moment of weakness, praying to the Mother to be merciful.

"What?" was Robb's inquisitive tone. The slightest drop to his eyebrows left his eyes unguarded and fearful.

"Her servant found her in your chambers this morning," a tinge of tightness burrowed around his eyes, but he dismissed the shadowy assassin with a joking manner.

"I would hope she was," he replied, dropping into the heavily carved chair slowly. His eyes moved to observe the scatter of papers with practiced interest, a slight smile gracing his lips.

Thalion took several steps forward, the heaviest and loudest strides he had ever taken perhaps. They echoed through the dim chambers, a slight huff of a tender voice resounded as well. Slamming his hands upon Robb's desk, he leaned over it, staring directly into the king's eyes. Robb dismissively raised his eyes to meet the sparking twin flames.

"On the floor," began Thalion, a twin tremor running through mother and son. "In a pool of her own blood." Thalion paused, waiting to see the reaction that would appear. Robb breathed in sharply.

"Now," he continued. "We all know you bedded her last night, and we both know what state you were in when you left the feasting hall. There wasn't a living being here who didn't hear her screams echoing down the corridors in the night," he paused, his voice lowering as he continued. "Screams of pain and pleading."

Robb made no answer, his eyes firmly fixed in horror at his wife's protector, his mind desperately grasped at any memories he had of the night before. He returned empty-handed and speechless at the silent accusation hurled at him.

Thalion leaned back, taking his hands off the desk and furling them into fists.

"If you brought serious harm to her," he swore, his voice quiet and threatening. "Then I swear by all the gods above, your death will look like an accident"

His pronouncement thus delivered, he turned and left without another word, silver braid swaying in a gentle rhythm. Robb turned to his mother, who crept out of the dark corner she had disappeared into. The elder lady gazed after the door that clicked shut with a resounding thud. Her eyes slowly drifted to her son, the fear and terror clinging to twin pairs of icy blue orbs.

"Robb," she began, pausing but a moment when he rose to his feet and offered her all his attention like he used to do as a child. "If what he accused you of is true, then Ciroth will tear Winterfell to the ground like they did Dreadfort and the Twins. They won't leave a single stone standing or soul alive. And they would be right to do so," she finished, looking down at him and turning her back.

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"What? I'm still not good enough for you?" she asked, her voice direct and tense, a hazy vision of shimmering silk as it fell to the floor. She sat back upon the bed covered in copious furs, leaning back to show off a generous view of her womanly body. Her eyes a blazing haze of silver as her face took on a coy bitter shape, the smile distrustful in it's pulled corners and the eyes pinched in the creases with envy or hatred.

**BREAK**

"Was she a better fuck than me?" she asked, lazily standing up and sauntering towards her swaying husband. He didn't move, his eyes glued to her face, little twitches pulling around his eyes every other second.

Miriel stopped, inches away from him. Her naked form silhouetted by an open dressing gown. Her head rose and fell as she sensually shifted her body before bending forward slightly and letting her eyes duck to meet Robb's as his chin shifted lower.

"Was it because she was so willing to open her legs for you?" she paused, watching his reaction. With a hint of disdain and open spite, she continued, spitting out damning words.

"Like a common whore?"

**BREAK**

Her back smashed against the wall, bouncing off it as her head cracked back on the unyielding wood. She froze, watching with wide-opened eyes as Robb shoved her further against the wall with a hand on her neck. He didn't say a word, even as he leaned further into her, letting her feel every inch of a hard body.

His hand tightened on her neck, pressing just enough on her airway to make her choke and splutter in pleas. Her hands reached for his iron grip, desperately grasping with slipping fingers as her grip became weaker and weaker with the less air she choked in. His sour breath hitting her face when she realized he was as drunk as her.

In seconds, Robb had her hands firmly secured above her head, his rough palm able to grip both her smooth, little hands in a harsh grip. She sputtered for breath when his fingers loosened from her throat. Her breath died in her throat, choking over it when Robb kicked her feet apart.

**BREAK**

She tried screaming his name, begging him with words as his grip became harder. Her screams turned to whimpers when she felt the unmistakable stab against the sensitive flesh in between her legs. Even with tears burning their trails down her ashen cheeks, nothing changed the inevitable.

**BREAK**

She screamed and pleaded when her husband entered her, tearing the weak lining and spilling drops of blood. His grip was bruising, keeping her from fidgeting and attempting to run or fight back. Her cries became smaller and smaller, screams turning to whimpers and pathetic sobs.

**BREAK**

His thrusts were powerful and erratic, causing her to tense and squeeze at all the wrong times. His hips meeting her own with a slam that crushed her back into the unyielding wood. Her feet no longer touched the ground, but her body sagged, held up entirely by Robb's bruising grip on her hands and hip.

The room echoed with the sound of wet slaps, Miriel's whimpers broken down with little gasps of air between sobs, and Robb's occasional grunt. He switched his hands, gripping her other hip with bruising strength as her hands were strung up higher in his own.

**BREAK**

As quickly as it began, it ended. Robb breathed deeply against her neck as he shook and sputtered, remaining silent in all other ways. Miriel held her breath, waiting, tense and hyper-aware. Her head swam as her breath slowed.

Withdrawing himself from her, little drops of blood splashed against the floor and down her legs. Bruises already forming around her neck and hips.

**BREAK**

Her hands still bound in his grip, though no longer bruising, Robb met her eyes. While hers had closed to small slits as the light stabbed her head, his own were blown wide and contorted to a rounded shape. He eyed her quickly, his grip weakening.

"Just like an animal," she breathed, her voice cracked and burst from desperate screams.

**BREAK**

His hand let go of her as he backed away in fear. Her legs useless and her body weakened, she slammed to the floor, unable to move more than a few inches. She watched as Robb backed away from her, smacking into a table and knocking over the inhabitants.

A glass bottle of rose water suspended in mid-air before crashing into a thousand pieces on the floor. That bottle had been a gift to her from her father, a wedding gift. The water spread in a little river, tripping its way toward her.

Turning, Robb all but dashed out of the room. Slamming the door behind him. The sounds of his footsteps could be heard scrambling down the corridor.

**BREAK**

Miriel didn't move. Her body suspended in a bloody haze on the ground. The iron scent of blood mixed with the bitter stench of sex and sweet smell of rose water. The combination caused a slight tingle in her throat before it expanded and had her retching onto the floor next to her. The bitter taste of foul wine reeked in her mouth.

Passing out in a pool of her own vomit, the blood between her legs seeped further out, coating everything in the vicinity.

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Catelyn watched her good daughter twist and turn in her sleep, her eyes attempting to shift to the reddish stain lining a puddle by the wall. Miriel whimpered in her sleep, her voice cracked and breaking. Her pleas the same as the ones Catelyn had heard in her sleep the night before. Pleas of pain and desperation.

Plopping into a chair, Catelyn dropped her face into her hands and sobbed. The guilt ate her alive, and it would continue to do so until the day she died.

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**EEP! I did warn you. Be back later! (Also, can we just appreciate the fact that pretty much everyone is pushing Robb around right now? That moment with Thalion was a lucky burst of inspiration that turned out amazing)**

**Happy Reading!**

**Winter is coming**

**Maria de Sanctos**


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